


Hades is a Place on Earth

by leaper182



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Mythology References, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot has regained control of Gotham's criminal underworld (again) and now he’s a contender to rule over an otherworldly Underworld. One which is testing the limits of his mind and body to see if he's actually worthy of taking the crown. Will he be able to survive the necessary tests and reconcile with his true love along the way?Loosely based on the Hades and Persephone myth.Follows canon up to 4x04.





	1. Wherein the Penguin's Goose is Almost Cooked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jumpingjaxx13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpingjaxx13/gifts).



> The biggest thank you to the world to [Dragonsquill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill), [Doyle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle), [SureAsEggs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SureAsEggs) and so many others for telling me this didn't actively suck. These people have either beta-read, read it over and gave me a pat on the back, or just encouraged me to keep going. Thank youuu. <3
> 
> And an extensively big thank you to [Sharvie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharvie), whose magical beta-reader powers have made this fic gone from passable to something I'm really happy with. <3
> 
> The tags and warnings will be updated with each new chapter.
> 
> The fic title is a variation on "Heaven is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle. Because I'm just that cheesy.
> 
> This was also part of the Gotham Buddy Exchange on tumblr, found [here](http://gothambuddyexchange.tumblr.com).
> 
> I didn't get finished by the deadline, but I'm definitely going to finish it. (I swear!)

Something was wrong.

Oswald was used to something being wrong -- if there wasn't something fucking up on a daily basis, there were long-term plans of his being interrupted or delayed because something cropped up that needed his immediate attention. There was his usual level of uneasiness about Gotham in general, but that was normal. Something new was on the verge of happening, like it had three years ago just after the Waynes were murdered.

But no.

This was different.

Something was _wrong._

Oswald sat back in his limousine, eyeing the bulletproof partition between him and his driver. The woman -- Darby, that was her last name -- didn't look like antsy. She just kept her attention on the road, where it should be. They were at a red light on Vine and 37th.

Everything was as it should b--

Darby's head jerked sharply, away from her side window, her cap falling off. Blood and bits of brain covered the partition.

And then the world erupted into a hail of gunfire and shattering glass.

 _Move!_ , his brain shouted at him, _go the_ opposite _way of the bullets!_

Oswald didn't give a damn about dignity as he scooted to the right side of the car. He reached for the handle to open the door, and then bullets slammed into _that_ door.

Oswald dimly heard someone shrieking, and wondered who the hell was screaming.

His throat felt shredded raw.

 _If you're screaming, you're not dead,_ he told himself, wild and sudden. _Get as small as you can._

Adrenaline overriding the intense pain in his knee and ankle, Oswald curled up into as tiny a ball as he could manage on his seat, covering his head and trying to breathe. His heart hammered in his ears almost louder than the bullets slamming into the limo. All it would take was a lucky shot, and Oswald Cobblepot would be dead.

_How many bullets do these guns even_ have _?_

_If Ed were here, he would know--_

_Don't think about him. He's gone now._

_(thank god he's safe)_

_If a bullet's going to kill me,_ he thought in a moment of sour clarity, _I'd rather it hurry up and finish the job already._

And then, silence.

There were two separate screeches of tires that made Oswald flinch, but then silence fell again.

Trembling from fear and adrenaline, Oswald lifted his head and opened his eyes. Easing himself out of the tense ball of limbs he'd curled into, he pushed open the door, and tottered out into the street.

The muscles in his face hurt as he grinned up at the sky. He started laughing uncontrollably, and turned around in a dazed circle.

He saw the bullet holes in the limo, and laughed harder.

"My car--" He giggled, fumbling for his phone. It took two times to press and hold the number 2 on his cellphone.

Zsasz picked up on the first ring. _"Yeah?"_ He sounded like a Doberman with its ears perked up.

Oswald laughed harder. If Zsasz was a dog, he would be the ugliest dog _ever._

There was a short pause, and then Zsasz spoke again. _"Boss?"_

The total _confusion_ in his voice, it was just so _priceless_ \--

"I just--" Oswald giggled again. His body was trembling and ready to fall over. The usual level of pain from his knee and ankle ricocheted around in his head until it felt like it was about to split open. "Survived a drive-by!"

_"You did what now?"_

Oswald laughed harder, bending over double and resting a hand on the edge of the limousine's frame to keep himself from falling down.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in a voice that felt uncomfortably like a certain someone's, he told himself that something _was_ wrong.

He was alive, and he shouldn't be.

***

"I want them _found!_ I want them _dead!_ " Oswald screamed as he stormed into his office, hobbling over to his chair before collapsing in it. His head was about to split open from the pain in his leg, and he did not give a damn who was in range. The only reason that Victor Zsasz wasn't a bleeding mess on the floor already was because Oswald was sure Victor would kill him first.

Zsasz had the nerve to stand near Oswald's desk, smiling serenely. "Already done, Boss. Me and my men got 'em all."

Some of the rage in Oswald's chest diminished at that, but he kept glaring at Zsasz. "What the _hell_ happened?"

"The Difuntos." Victor shrugged, completely unfazed. "Unlicensed gangbangers that didn't want to play ball when the program first started. It looks like they'd been laying low--"

"No," Oswald snapped. He sat back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His heart had been slamming inside his chest ever since the gangbangers had opened fire on his limo, and he needed to concentrate, to figure out what _happened_. "That's not it."

Victor's hairless eyebrows lifted. "Um, well, I don't know why else they wouldn't have been active--"

Oswald held up a shaking finger, and then slammed his hand down on his desk angrily. " _You_ were supposed to eliminate anyone who didn't get licensed! First, Merton and his merry band of idiots try to flout my authority, and now these Dibuntos--"

"Difuntos, Boss."

"I don't _care!_ " Oswald snapped before coughing loudly. When he'd recovered, he kept barreling on. "Whoever they are, they just showed up out of nowhere to _kill_ me! My limousine is _ruined!_ "

Victor shrugged. "You can get another one, can't you?"

"That's not the point!" Oswald shouted. He grabbed some documents that were still sitting on his desk and swept them off, creating a brief blizzard of paper that did nothing to assuage his anger. "This shouldn't have happened!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Oswald realized he was right. It _shouldn't_ have happened. Victor was the best there was, period. The reason that the licensing program was enforceable was because everyone was so scared of Victor that no one would dare cross Oswald. The second that Merton and his little gang tried to operate at _all_ , Victor had been right there to shoot off the little prick's finger as an object lesson. True, he'd robbed the First Bank of Gotham afterwards, but Victor had known about Merton the second Merton tried to operate without a license.

Zsasz frowned. "Whaddaya mean?"

The answer struck Oswald like a bolt out of the blue. "Falcone."

Victor's eyebrows rose sharply. "Sorry?"

"That little _bitch."_ Oswald snapped, jabbing angrily at his intercom. "Someone had better get me a drink. _Now._ "

He turned back to Victor. "Now-- _now_ she comes at me, Victor! Using unlicensed gangbangers who already want to take a shot at me-- she's having me followed, isn't she?" Oswald slammed his hand down on his desk, the pain in his arm momentarily overriding the one radiating from his leg. "If she weren't Carmine's daughter, I'd dump her in the river."

Zsasz shook his head. "It's not her."

Oswald narrowed his eyes at Victor. "Excuse me?"

"It's not her, Boss," Zsasz said again. "She wants to be too much like her old man. Using thugs to go after you is a rookie move."

"But it's an _effective_ one," Oswald said with a wry smile. "It's what I would've done."

"That's because you were starting off in a gutter with no big name, no connections," Victor said. "Daddy's Little Girl is going to come after you, sure, but she's going to have _standards_."

"Results are better than standards, Victor," Oswald sneered. The door opened before he could continue, a waiter scurrying in with a wineglass and a lovely red. He offered the label to Oswald for approval, and when Oswald nodded, he popped the cork and filled the glass.

Oswald's hand grabbed the waiter's arm. "Leave the bottle."

"Yes, sir."

Zsasz idly watched the waiter go with unblinking eyes, and turned back to Oswald with a smile. "Trust me, Boss. The Difuntos aren't her play. They're Hispanic anyways -- the Falcones are Italians or bust."

"Funny," Oswald grunted, taking a long sip. "I'm not Italian. Neither was Fish."

Zsasz, who was also definitely _not_ Italian, shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."

Oswald glared at him before eyeing his wine. "If you're so sure that this unlicensed gang isn't Sofia Falcone's play, then an entire unlicensed gang was operating under our noses long enough for me to nearly die and _you_ hadn't killed them."

"I have a feeling they were going to be a problem whether I tracked them all down or not," Victor muttered.

"Victor, I don't think you understand," Oswald snapped, getting fed up with Victor's oh so casual dismissal of the fact that-- "I shouldn't have _survived._ "

Oswald snapped his mouth shut. He had been thinking it ever since he had seen the state of his limo after the attack, but he hadn't meant to tell _anyone_ about it, least of all Zsasz.

Victor blinked. "Oh, that?"

Oswald stared at him, struck speechless for a moment before he recovered. _"Excuse me?"_

Zsasz had the audacity to shrug. "I was wondering when the handover was gonna happen, seeing as how Falcone's not in Gotham anymore." He frowned for a moment, thinking it over. "Maybe it was because he was here for Mario's funeral. Huh."

Oswald glared at the best assassin on his payroll in complete confusion and mounting rage. "Would you care to _explain_ what you're talking about?"

"You're the new King of Gotham." Zsasz grinned. "Congrats, Boss."

"I was already the King of Gotham," Oswald managed through gritted teeth.

Zsasz held up a hand and waggled it in a so-so gesture. "Kinda sorta? You were calling yourself that since Carmine wasn't around, sure, but there wasn't a handover, so Carmine was still the King."

"I took Gotham from Falcone _and_ Maroni _and_ Fish fair and square," Oswald snapped. "Don't tell me that I'm not the King of Gotham."

Victor shrugged, and then started ticking items off on his fingers. "You took it from Falcone and everybody else. Then you lost it when Galavan showed up. Then you got it back when you became mayor. Then you lost it again when Barbara Kean and her people took you out of power." He held up four fingers and waggled them with an unimpressed look. "Are you seeing a pattern?"

"What I'm seeing is someone who'd better start using English to explain what the _hell_ he's talking about."

Victor snorted. "Look, Boss. Carmine's out. And I mean, like, completely gone. The fact that this happened means that he has no intentions of coming back. So that means you're the new head honcho."

Oswald stared at him. "Victor, I took over Falcone's business interests when he left Gotham." When Victor didn't look any more enlightened, he added, " _All_ of them."

"Well, yeah, but that's not what makes you the King. It's the agreement with the Underworld."

Oswald sighed heavily, massaging his temples and hoping that his head wouldn't split open from the pain. "In case you've forgotten, I'm _licensing_ the criminal underworld."

"That's little-u underworld," Zsasz said, shaking his head. "I'm talking about big-u Underworld."

Oswald's head snapped up. "What?"

Zsasz had the nerve to look _patient._ "Did you study mythology in school, Boss? The Underworld? Where the souls of the dead go?"

"You've got to be kidding."

Zsasz shook his head again. "The gangbangers shooting up your car, that was a sign that the handover's begun."

Oswald stared at Zsasz, and then shook his head. "What handover?"

Victor sighed. "I only said it a couple times already, Boss. Carmine had the power in Gotham. He had an agreement with the Underworld. He's gone, and he's not coming back. But Gotham can't be without a King, so it's picking the next best person for the job."

"How can a _city_ pick a person?" Oswald asked, quickly losing the battle for any kind of sanity from this conversation. Seeing as how he survived a drive-by that left his limo barely operable, let alone intact, hearing that a city could decide to pick a person sounded almost _sensible_.

"How does anybody pick somebody? In her case, Gotham is picking someone who can keep the agreement that she made with Falcone."

Oswald stared at him.

"Put it this way, Boss," Victor said with a look that was almost sympathetic. "You love Gotham, right?"

"Gotham's my home," Oswald replied immediately.

Zsasz nodded. "And now she's asking you to step up. It won't be hard."

"I've already been mayor," Oswald felt the need to point out. "I don't envy Burke."

"This isn't about being some guy who makes speeches and wears dumb hats while standing around for photo ops," Zsasz said dryly. "This is about protecting the city from things that want to tear her apart."

"The Court of Owls," Oswald said. He hadn't been able to find out much about them, other than the fact that he'd been kidnapped by them for killing one of their precious assassins, and that Ed was--

He cut that line of thinking short and took a drink. _Ed's not here anymore. He's gone. Get over it._

Victor shrugged. "The Court was its own weird fucked-up animal, but okay, sure. It became a threat, but now I think they're all dead." He smirked. "That kind of happens to things that threaten Gotham."

Oswald snorted, a tired smile on his face. He took another drink. "So, let me see if I have this right. Gotham -- the city itself, not some person -- made a deal with Falcone--"

"Other way around, Boss, but yeah."

Oswald idly glared at him before taking another drink. "Falcone makes a deal with the city itself to protect it from harm. It's an actual kingship that can be passed on, and since Falcone went down south, the city is choosing me."

Victor considered it before nodding. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

"And the handover has already begun because I was--" Oswald was about to take another drink when he realized his glass was empty. He refilled it, and knocked some back. "--nearly killed in a drive-by by gang members who _you_ hadn't killed."

"The name should've tipped me off." Zsasz grinned. "Difuntos. Knell, like a death knell. The city's testing you."

Oswald lifted his head to stare at Victor. "Testing me?"

Zsasz shrugged. "Yeah, Boss. I wouldn't stand too close to other people over the next coupla days if I were you."

Oswald didn't like how that sounded. His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Sending these assassins after you? That's playing with kid gloves." Zsasz said. "Because you're so breakable, it's not even funny. But if they don't bring _any_ of their power to bear, it's not gonna mean anything. So, you get to survive more assassination attempts until you figure out how to stop them."

 _"More_ assassination attempts?" Oswald demanded, taking another drink.

"Until you figure out how to stop them, yeah. It's the first test," Zsasz said. "Between you and me, Carmine had a _bitch_ of a time figuring it out. I'm guessing you'll break his record, though."

Oswald glared at him, but Zsasz didn't seem to notice. "You couldn't just _tell_ me how to do it?"

Zsasz's expression turned grave. "No can do, Boss. If you can't figure it out, you don't get the crown."

"Crown?" Oswald blinked. "What crown?"

Zsasz stared at him, his tone dripping with ‘duh'. _"The_ crown, Boss. What kind of king doesn't have a crown?"

This entire conversation felt completely ridiculous, but Oswald couldn't help getting _excited_ at the idea of an actual crown being involved. "Tell me more about this crown."

Zsasz kept staring. "It's a _crown,_ Boss. It's the symbol of your authority. I think it's made of iron, but I didn't get a good look at it when Carmine was in charge. He didn't like wearing hats all that often."

Oswald frowned. "Iron?"

Zsasz shrugged. "You're gonna be the King of the Underworld in Gotham. What else would it be made out of?"

"Well, gold is traditional," Oswald pointed out snidely.

"Gold is also really soft and isn't really worth all that much when you're dead," Zsasz replied. "I mean, it's not like you're gonna die while you're the King, but gold? It's stuff that mortals like. Iron's dependable." He patted the gun on his hip.

"Good point," Oswald mused before the rest of what Victor had said registered. "Wait, did you just say that I'm not going to _die_?"

Zsasz shrugged. "It's part of being the King of Gotham. Nothing normal can kill you, and you get some extra stuff." He paused for a moment, thinking it over before adding, "Okay, I know _one_ thing that could kill you, but seeing as how I have to be your right-hand man, that's not gonna happen."

"You?" Oswald asked skeptically. "What, are you some kind of mythological creature in a human suit?"

Zsasz looked back at Oswald without blinking. It was probably a flicker of the lights in his office, but for a moment, Victor looked like he was wearing a black robe with a hood.

"That answer your question, Boss?"

Oswald sat back in his chair, feeling just a little stunned. "It does, yes."

Zsasz nodded once, and then he was back to his faintly amused expression. "Oh, by the way, you have three tests."

Oswald groaned, taking another drink and rubbing his head. "Give me the bullet points."

Zsasz raised hairless eyebrows. "The first one is figuring out how to stop the assassination attempts. Either you'll stop them or you won't. Then you got two more tests. Then you'll get presented the crown, and come into full powers."

"That's not exactly helpful," Oswald snapped, irritation getting the better of him. "What are the other two tests? How am I supposed to pass them?"

"You have to figure them out, just like Carmine did," Zsasz replied with an unblinking stare.

"Can you give me any hints?" Oswald asked, wistfully hoping but not expecting much.

Zsasz snorted. "Is it really going to be _your_ kingdom if someone else gave you all the answers, Boss? If Carmine Falcone can figure it out, so can you." 

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming," Oswald muttered. "The first test is to stop the assassination attempts."

Zsasz nodded. "Yep. It'll be real hard to concentrate if you have to keep dodging bullets."

Oswald grunted in grudging agreement. "So a plan of attack is in order. The best defense is a good offense, so I need to know who's targeting me and get rid of them before they can move against me."

Victor considered this for a moment. "Sounds like an idea, Boss."

Oswald pressed the button for the intercom, and ordered, "Get Mr. Penn in here. I want all the information we have on any rejected or unpaid licenses."

 _"Yes, sir,"_ the receptionist said smartly.

"Also, arrange a meet with my lieutenants for tomorrow at noon."

_"Sir, you have a working lunch with Ms. Falc--"_

"Cancel it," Oswald snapped.


	2. Testing, Testing, One, Two, Three...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If at first you don't succeed, try, try again...

Five days and three dead lieutenants later, Oswald dabbed carefully at the cut on his lip and shot Zsasz a sour look.

Zsasz shrugged. "I said it sounded like an idea, Boss. There's just a better way to do it."

"Which is?" Oswald demanded.

"That would be telling," Victor said dryly. "But you've got a good idea. I didn't see Carmine do that."

"And you're _still_ insisting that Miss Falcone isn't behind these attacks," Oswald said skeptically. Some unlicensed gang apparently wasn't her modus operandi, but some of the hitmen that were after him before Victor put them down had been surprisingly effective.

Zsasz nodded. "She's got a different gameplan than anybody else would in her position. The fact that she had you off her dad's supporters is kind of a biggie."

Oswald scowled. "That was pointless. They met with her to follow her. Even Giovanni was expecting her to take charge."

"Yeah, they were going to follow somebody who hasn't been in Gotham for the past ten years," Victor said while sarcastically nodding. "How old is Sofia? Nineteen, twenty?"

Oswald shook his head. "I don't know." He considered for a moment. "Young."

"The point is, the last time they saw her, she was this little girl," Zsasz explained. "If they still remember her as a little girl, why would they listen to her unless they think Carmine is using her to run Gotham long-distance?"

The idea of anyone running the city without actually being _in_ it sounded preposterous. "Carmine would never do that."

" _We_ know he wouldn't, but his lieutenants might not have thought so. Sofia wants to be a big girl. If she wants to take over Gotham, she wants to do it without being under Daddy's shadow, but she wants to do it in a way that makes Daddy proud."

Oswald stared at Victor for a long moment. "How do you know so much about Sofia Falcone? Have you ever met her before she came to town?"

"Nah." Zsasz shrugged much too casually for Oswald's liking. "Just a hunch."

Oswald scowled. "Fine. I'll assume for the moment she's not behind these new attacks."

Zsasz shook his head. "Told you before, Boss. Gotham is testing you, and using whatever it needs to in order to do it. Trying to off the assassins first or get the drop on them before they show up doesn't seem to be working."

"I'm _aware_ of that, Victor," Oswald snarled. "What do you suggest?"

Zsasz rolled his eyes. "Well, how'd you survive when you turned on Fish? And Maroni?" he asked patiently.

"I made sure not to be on their radar, which isn't helping me right now!" Oswald snapped. "I'm Oswald Cobblepot! The Penguin! The man who runs Gotham!"

Zsasz shrugged. "Okay, so if you can't find them first to kill them, what do you do when there's a gun in your face?"

Oswald gritted his teeth, ready to start screaming when the answer suddenly occurred to him. "Don't be in front of it."

Zsasz's hairless eyebrows rose. "Huh."

***

"I don't get it," Oswald whined, collapsing into his wingback chair and glaring at Zsasz yet _again_. "I've made sure to cancel all my appointments. Move around the city. Personally inspect business transactions. Hell, I was there for a sale at Barbara Kean's little store!"

He bent over with some difficulty, yanking open the bottom drawer where he had started to keep a bottle of wine for just such occasions as these. He was going to have to get more bottles soon, at the rate these assassination attempts were happening.

When he righted himself, Zsasz was frowning, looking confused and curious at the same time. "What's to get?"

"I'm not in the same place everyday, Victor!" Oswald snapped. "How the hell are these assassins still _finding_ me if I'm not even following a pattern? I tell all of my drivers to take the most convoluted routes known to man, and I still have to replace them!"

Zsasz rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Boss, you _really_ need to read up on your mythology. There's all kinds of stories about people trying to hide from Death, and they never go well for the guy trying to do it."

"Well, seeing as how _I'm_ not dead, I think I have a leg up on those _fine_ gentlemen," Oswald said with a very toothy grin.

"That's not going to last for long if you don't pass this test," Zsasz drawled. "Sooner or later, you're just going to be a guy who could've been a contender for the crown, and then whoever's testing you is gonna get fed up with you not figuring it out."

"You didn't say anything about a time limit!" Oswald grabbed his bottle of wine, ready to launch it at Zsasz's head, but Zsasz's expression stopped him in his tracks.

"Do you seriously think that a being more powerful than some _human_ \--" He sneered at Oswald from his hair to his desk. "--is going to be patient while you try to look at the bigger picture?"

Oswald jumped to his feet and screamed as he threw the bottle at Zsasz's head.

Zsasz didn't even blink as his arm snapped out. The bottle landed in his palm with a resounding smack.

Oswald sucked in deep breaths, trying to calm down. Zsasz had already hinted that he wasn't entirely human, and they were the only ones in Oswald's office. The tension in the air, more than just the ordinary tension that Oswald would defuse by beating someone to death with whatever was handy, was almost… otherworldly. Oswald felt like there was something bigger than his fragile existence watching him, and the attention was like a weight he couldn't shrug off or ignore.

"You're stressed," Zsasz said with just a hint of steel in his voice. He set the bottle down on Oswald's desk. _Did the man ever_ blink _?_ "It happens to all of us."

Oswald refilled his glass with a shaking hand and muttered, "I can do without the condescension."

Zsasz arched an unimpressed brow in reply.

And just like that, the tension diminished. It was still there -- it felt like someone was just about to send a chill down Oswald's spine -- but it didn't feel quite so menacing.

"Why are you even _here?"_ The question was out before Oswald could second guess himself.

"Um, because you wanted to talk me?" Zsasz offered.

Oswald shook his head. "Not that. I mean, why Gotham? I'm guessing that wherever you're from--" Oswald was not about to hazard a guess about what kind of place would have spawned someone like Victor Zsasz. "--you'd want to be there instead of playing hitman for the highest bidder."

"Maybe." Zsasz smirked, and then he shrugged. "Or maybe Carmine wanted assurance that the bargain would be… honored." He poked himself in the temple with a gloved finger. "This shell was born like any other human. It's just that when he died, I... stepped in."

Oswald frowned. "So what do you really look like?"

Zsasz chuckled. "Whenever I run around without a suit on--" He pointed at his chest. "-- the first thing I have to tell anybody is 'Do not be afraid'."

Oswald blinked.

"It gets old after a while," Victor said dryly.

Oswald tried to imagine what kind of being would have to say that on a regular basis, and told himself it was better if he didn't know after all.

"And now, you're... still a hitman," he offered skeptically.

Victor shrugged. "I like a little mayhem now and again." He looked away, pursing his lips in thought.

After an awkward silence spread between them, Oswald frowned, annoyed at being ignored by his own personal assassin, and curious to know what Victor was thinking. "Victor?"

"Y'know what?" Victor said, sounding as if he hadn't heard him. "I like you, Oswald. You let me have fun. Carmine liked reining me in, thought it gave him power, but you... You could be really interesting in charge." He grinned slowly, and Oswald felt a chill run down his spine.

"So… are you going to help me?" Oswald asked. "More than you already have?"

Victor nodded, still grinning.

"All right," Oswald said, taking another sip of wine to fortify himself. "How do I pass this test?"

Victor watched him for a long moment before he asked, "Remember that time you met Mayor James in that restaurant? When you were running for mayor?"

Oswald blinked. "Yes," he said slowly, not sure where this was going. "Why?"

"What was it you told him?" Victor pretended to try to remember. The confused frown was convincing enough. "After the waitstaff pulled guns on you?"

Oswald frowned. "That he was one step ahead, but never three."

The intercom clicked on, _"Sir."_

Oswald scowled at it, still trying to figure out why Zsasz brought that up. Jabbing the button, he snapped, "What is it?"

 _"There's a Miss De Palma here to see you, sir,"_ the receptionist said slowly. _"Should I push back your appointment with Mr. Carbone?"_

Oswald's gaze snapped up to meet Victor's. Carbone. That meant his receptionist was facing down a hitman -- hitwoman, _whatever_ \-- who was probably about to shoot her and barge into his office.

Victor looked impressed. "Ooh, she's smart, Boss. You should keep her."

Oswald jabbed the button. "That's fine. Send her in." At least with Victor around, it would be over faster than other attempted hits.

But as he looked up from the intercom, he saw Zsasz turn and head for the door.

"Victor! _Where_ do you think you're going?" Oswald demanded.

Victor smiled at him over his shoulder. "Just remember, Boss. Three steps ahead."

Then he had the nerve to _hold the door open_ for Miss De Palma, Hitwoman, and then _wave_ before closing the door.

Miss De Palma looked like she could've been one of Oswald's regulars in the Lounge. She wore a short red dress, black tights, and a white, faux fur coat over it. The stilettos she wore were the same red as her dress, but the small handbag dangling heavily from one shoulder was shiny and black.

She looked over Oswald with palpable disinterest. "Oswald Cobblepot."

There was no point denying it. "Forgive me for not getting up," he said politely, reaching under his desk to trigger his panic button. Victor might have deserted him in his time of need, but that didn't mean the rest of his security guards would. One thing he'd learned from the past few attempts was that anyone with him was going to die, but they could be useful distractions long enough for Oswald to shoot the hitman in the head.

Miss De Palma reached into her handbag--

**Derringer. Silver.**

\-- and pulled a Derringer from her handbag.

Oswald froze where he sat, not because he was afraid of the gun, but because he had already known what it would look like before she aimed it at him. And the information kept coming, showing him what would happen with just enough time to react to it.

**She's going to take off her coat, hold it in her left hand, and then shoot... the chair?**

_What the hell?_ he thought, stunned and beginning to panic.

The look of shock on Miss De Palma's face was comical when her hand jerked an inch to the left, but Oswald was already half-ducking, half-collapsing behind his desk when the shot rang out. The shock of impacting the tiled floor sent pain exploding in his knee like fireworks, but his lips were stretched into a manic grin.

**Come around the desk with the gun out.**

Oswald crawled to the other side of his desk, away from where her stilettos clicked on the floor.

**She'll throw the coat over you--**

Oswald managed an awkward ducking twist out of the way, faux fur flying harmlessly past. More pain lanced through his leg before he righted himself. He got up quickly, using the desk to push himself up--

**Bullet to the left side--**

Oswald leaned to his right, yanking his fountain pen from its holder on his desk before taking cover again.

**Bullet in the edge of the desk.**

Oswald kept his head down, hearing the bullet splinter the polished wood.

 _What the hell do I do?_ he thought wildly, covering his head with both hands and trying to force himself to think of a way out of this.

 _Well, what about your security guards?_ Oswald thought the suggestion sounded remarkably like Ed, but shoved the thought aside before he got another flash.

**Door--**

The doors burst open, revealing two delightfully brawny-looking security guards, both carrying guns. They took stock of the situation and raised their guns at the would-be assassin.

**Headshot. Shoulder. Her right arm is grazed. Misses her neck, hits the wall.**

The guard on the left went down, a neat red hole appearing in the middle of his forehead as he fell backwards into the hallway. The guard on the right ducked down, got hit in the shoulder. He was left-handed, though, firing back without hesitating.

**One shot to the chest, and he's down. Her gun's empty.**

The guard fell, blood appearing on his suit to the right of his tie. Behind him, Oswald heard her throw her gun to the floor and stalk around his desk. Oswald used his free hand to push himself up onto shaky knees, gritting his teeth against the pain.

**Pulling out a knife, stab to the abdomen--**

Oswald's arm was already there, catching the blow and deflecting it harmlessly, allowing him to drive his fountain pen in and up--

**Grab the wrist, jab a pressure point--**

Oswald barely had enough time to twist his arm away, sacrificing the chance to stab her to keep his arm under his control.

**Right cross to the jaw--**

Oswald ducked, trying again with the fountain pen--

**Moves to the left--**

He twisted his wrist to compensate. His fountain pen sank into her side easily. He yanked it free, and blood coated his hand. He bared his teeth in a vicious grin and stabbed her again and again.

Her eyes widened even as the life drained out of her. Before she lost consciousness, her gaze crept up to stare at Oswald's brow. There was a moment where she looked like any henchman who belatedly realized he had hired on with the _wrong_ employer, and then she exhaled one last time.

Oswald lowered her body to the floor more gently than he ordinarily would have, into the pool of her own blood.

**Door--**

Oswald's head snapped up in time to see Zsasz step over the bodies of the two security guards and smirk at him.

Oswald wanted to be angry. He wanted to be fucking _furious_ at Zsasz leaving him when he was about to be attacked.

But the thrill of victory, of having _survived_ , was too sweet to be shoved aside.

And just like that, he understood.

It was all well and good to try to anticipate the people who wanted to kill him. Knowing who would try to kill him and when were important to know, but knowing how to react in the moment… _that_ was what he needed to know. That was what he had needed to learn.

"So," Zsasz drawled. "How many steps ahead?"

Oswald grinned. "Three." 

Zsasz grinned back. "Congrats, Boss. One down, two to go."


	3. Go Big or Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald started on a smaller scale and finished the first test. What's next?

It had been quiet for days, relatively speaking.

The feeling of something being wrong was there, like an underlying current running through all of his meetings with his remaining lieutenants, waitstaff, Mr. Penn. But the immediacy of it wasn't as sharp as it had been when his life was on the line.

Oswald couldn't even complain to Zsasz about it because he was off dealing with some independent contractors who weren't interested in giving the Penguin his rightful due.

 _Ed would know what was wrong,_ he thought glumly to himself. _He'd have an itemized itinerary on how to deal with it._

"Well, he's not here, _is_ he?" he muttered angrily at himself. The whole point of closing himself off, of making sure that love would never be a weakness for him ever again, was to keep Ed away from him. Thinking about him was _counterproductive_.

The intercom on his desk clicked on. _"Sir? You have ten minutes before your eleven-thirty, and then you're scheduled to have lunch in the private dining room with Ms. Falcone."_

Oswald sighed, pushing the button. "Thank you." He idly wondered if the next test he was supposed to finish was to get rid of Sofia Falcone without drawing the wrath of her father down on Gotham, but that felt too easy. Zsasz had said the reason that Carmine had made the agreement with the Underworld in the first place was because of threats to the city which, presumably, Carmine hadn't been equipped to deal with as the head of a major crime family.

Sofia, for all that she was an obstacle that he would have to figure out how to overcome, was still human. He had a feeling that she didn't really register on the scale of 'cosmic threat to the city'.

It still left what the second test was supposed to be, and how to pass it.

The first test had been about seeing the bigger picture in the moment and being able to react to it. While the internal logic suffered because the best way to eliminate threats was to make sure they couldn't _become_ threats in the first place, Oswald had to admit that being able to defend himself in hand-to-hand combat and only come out with an aching knee and ankle had made him absolutely _giddy_ with delight. If he'd had this kind of foresight when he was working with Fish, his leg wouldn't have been nearly as maimed as it was.

So, following the logic of being able to see the punches coming and being able to react to them being the way to pass the first test, it would make sense that the second test would be Oswald's ability to do that on a larger scale. Be able to anticipate threats to the city and counter them.

Which… was pointless, because Oswald could do that already.

He had an entire criminal empire to choose from. He needed to replace the lieutenants he'd lost to the would-be assassins the city sent to test him, of course, but that wasn't going to be a problem. His criminal empire had more than enough people hungry for power ready to crawl over the bodies of their rivals in order to get close to him. He'd been an umbrella boy for Fish Mooney. There were other umbrella boys out there who wanted more than the scraps they had.

Oswald frowned. There was something he was missing. He knew there was.

He pulled out his cellphone, flipped it open, and pressed the number 2 down. He bit his lip and tapped his fingers impatiently while the phone rang on the other end, but just before the seventh ring finished, the other line picked up.

 _"Hey, Boss,"_ Zsasz drawled.

"Are you _finished_ yet?" Oswald snapped.

 _"Yeah, just finishing up."_ Oswald heard two gunshots. _"What's up?"_

"I have a working lunch with Sofia Falcone in half an hour. I want you there."

Zsasz sighed over the line. _"She's not going to be behind the second test either, Boss."_

Oswald gritted his teeth, even if the confirmation that she wasn't going to be involved made him more relieved than he wanted to think about. "That won't stop her from trying to move against me."

_"Okay, Boss. Be there in fifteen."_

Oswald debated for a moment before demanding, "What am I missing?"

_"Boss?"_

"You heard me, Victor," Oswald snapped. "What am I missing? Going by the logic of the first test, I should've already passed the second one."

There was a short silence. _"How many people do you trust?"_

Oswald frowned, not sure where this was going but willing to play along to get an idea of what direction to take. "No one."

 _"Not even yourself?"_ Victor asked curiously before he hung up.

Oswald closed the phone and stared at it.

***

Ten minutes later, his 11:30 appointment arrived.

Edwige hadn't changed in the two years it had been since Oswald had seen her last: hair piled on her head in haphazard silver curls, her clothes a hodge-podge of materials and colors that added to the air of 'harmless antique shop owner' when she was anything _but_.

The look in her eyes, though... that was different.

She was terrified. Of _him._

"Mr. Penguin," she said, her lips a thin line, her tone formal.

"Edwige," he murmured, unable to stop himself from smiling. "It's been so long."

Her expression said that it had clearly not been long enough for _her_ liking. "How can I help you? Another cursed knife for me to identify, perhaps?"

Oswald smirked. "Oh, no. It was obvious from our last meeting that you have extensive knowledge of our city's history. Especially the darker parts of it that people would prefer hidden away. Tell me of the iron crown."

Her back stiffened. "I daresay you know more about it than I would, given that you dare speak of it to someone not of that realm."

"I told you before, Edwige," Oswald purred. "Lying is useless to me."

Her lips tightened. "What do you _really_ want to know?"

Oswald nodded in acknowledgement. "You can tell something's different about me."

"I can tell that you've gotten yourself into more trouble than I can advise," Edwige said dryly. "You've got a little something in your eye. It could grow to something more dangerous, if you let it. Overwhelming, if you're not careful."

Oswald blinked. "There's a way to enhance the ability?"

Edwige sneered. "Of course there is. You've heard of Cassandra, haven't you?" 

Oswald hadn't been much of a student of Greek mythology, but the story came back readily enough. "Unlike Cassandra, I fully intend to keep my mouth shut and act on the knowledge I have."

"Her trouble wasn't _just_ that no one believed her," she said, "It was that Apollo had given her more power than one mortal could handle. Are you sure that you won't suffer the consequences of entering into this Faustian bargain?"

Oswald's eyes narrowed. "Gotham has no King. Surely, you can see the hazards there."

"A lot more than _you_ can," Edwige replied smartly.

When she was about to continue, Oswald held up a hand to cut her off. "Be that as it may, Edwige, I need to know how to move forward."

Edwige snorted, drawing her overcoat tighter around her. "Well, if you'll not leave well enough alone and escape this mess with your soul intact, then might I suggest investing in a mirror?"

Oswald breathed in deeply, pushing down his irritation with some difficulty. "I'm sure you're going to explain what you mean by that."

"The way your eyes look, you'll see the bigger picture, all right," she said. "But if you're not careful, you'll get overwhelmed, and it'll be worse than useless."

"And the crown?" Oswald asked, watching her intently.

Edwige snorted derisively. "You need to figure out how to _see_ before you set your sights that high, Mr. Penguin."

"Then teach me," Oswald said. "Obviously you have experience, if you could tell so much after just walking into my office."

"You can't show someone what it's like to look through your eyes," Edwige said with a surprisingly gentle tone. "You can only try to describe it, and even then, something's always off. I can't help you, even if I wanted to."

Somehow, Oswald could feel deep inside that she was telling the truth. "Very well, Edwige. But I may call on you again."

Edwige nodded and gave a little curtsey that reminded Oswald uncomfortably of his mother. 

Oswald bent to retrieve his bottle of wine from the bottom drawer of his desk. When he righted himself, he found Edwige watching him with startled curiosity. "Yes?" he asked sharply.

A thin brown eyebrow arched. "Love is an ancient power, stronger than death. You'll do well to remember that."

A chill ran down Oswald's spine as he watched her leave.

***

"My little Oswald!" Gertrud cooed, fluttering to him and touching his face, her fingers as light as butterfly wings on his cheeks. "How you've grown!"

"Hello, Mother," Oswald murmured, his chest tightening. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he knew he was asleep, that he'd drunk too much and had passed out at his desk, but he didn't _care_. His mother was here, and she was happy and _alive_.

"Oh, my wonderful boy, let me look at you," Gertrud murmured, cupping his face and staring into his eyes, her pale eyes staring into his. "You're so much older now."

"I'm not _that_ old," Oswald murmured again. "It hasn't been that long since--"

Gertrud nodded, her blonde curls floating. "I know, Oswald, I know. But I get to _see_ you and know that you're all right."

Oswald reached up, covering her left hand with his right. "I'm fine, Mother. Truly."

Gertrud's smile faded, and she stared at him with a seriousness that made the shadows around her eyes look darker. "Your heart has been touched." Her free hand drifted to rest on his chest. "But… it has not been easy."

Oswald set his jaw stubbornly, but had to look away. "He doesn't love me, Mother. I thought he did, but…"

Gertrud shook her head. "I know you, Oswald. You are not one to give away your heart so lightly. Something inside you--" She tapped his chest. "--said that he was the one for you. When you find love, run to it."

Oswald bit his lip, his eyes filling with tears. "He _hates_ me, Mother. He--" His hand went to his stomach, to where the scar stood out against his pale skin. "He fell in love with someone else, and I killed her." He gasped for air.

"And then he shot you and threw you away like garbage," Gertrud hissed.

Oswald turned back to her, gaping.

Gertrud's hand covered his over his stomach. "You've been through so _much_ , and he hurt you like this. Next time, if he strays from you, report her to police and have her arrested instead of killing her." She nodded. "You could cover your tracks because you were mayor, but it is safer to leave enemies alive."

Oswald's mouth worked soundlessly before he managed, "How…?"

Gertrud looked at him with confusion. "Oh, my Oswald. Don't you know that the dead can see everything that happens?"

Oswald's eyes snapped open and he screamed.

***

When Zsasz finally showed up at Oswald's office at the Lounge, he gave Oswald a long look, cocked his head to one side, and said, "Huh."

Oswald, who'd been resisting the urge to bite his thumbnail, slapped his hand down on his desk and snarled, "What?"

Victor's hairless eyebrows rose, and he shrugged. "Just noticing something, Boss. Sorry."

"I'm getting sick of you just staring at me and making noises, Victor," Oswald snapped. "If you have something to say, spit it out!"

Victor's shrug clearly said 'it's your funeral'. "It looks like your mom paid you a visit."

Oswald inhaled sharply, reaching out to grab the edge of his desk. "Explain."

"Big-u Underworld, remember? Part of Falcone's information network were those who are no longer with us, if you get my drift. If Jim had actually done what he was supposed to and put a bullet in your head, you probably would've become one of Carmine's top informants." He looked Oswald up and down assessingly. "I bet you could've mustered up enough rage to walk around the city."

Oswald scowled. "So, I can talk to the dead now?"

"Well, not until you get the crown," Zsasz replied. "You gotta figure out how to pass this second test without being able to do that."

"What's the point?" Oswald snapped impatiently. "As soon as I become the King, I'll have that power to use whenever I want."

"If you can't keep your finger on the pulse of the city without all the powers that being the King gives you, then you don't deserve to wear the crown." Zsasz shrugged. "It's as simple as that."

Oswald scowled. "So how do I speak to my mother again?"

"The dead have to want to talk to you. In your mom's case, that's easy. She misses you. Other people who knew you when they were alive… well…" Zsasz shrugged again. "As for the how, just go to sleep. If somebody wants to speak up, they will."

"It can't be _that_ easy," Oswald objected. "If it were, I would've seen my mother much sooner."

"But you weren't able to _see_ before, were you?" he asked.

***

  
[](https://78.media.tumblr.com/4532a2c688d8d5e139538f4dc4d795fa/tumblr_p1no4vhbib1rj7505o1_1280.png)  
  


"Mother, how do I see the bigger picture?" Oswald asked. He was laying on his back, staring up at a beautiful blue sky. His leg wasn't damaged, and his head was laying in his mother's lap as she played with lilies and smiled dreamily. It was warm without being too hot, and for the first time in years, Oswald felt content.

"You're a smart boy, Oswald. You can see," Gertrud murmured, stroking his hair. "You just have to know where to look."

"I've tried, Mother." Oswald pouted. "I can only see what's in front of me, to stop my enemies from hurting me."

"Then don't look in front of you," Gertrud said, as if it were that obvious. "Look elsewhere, my little Cobblepot."

"I have people to do that for me," Oswald muttered.

Gertrud frowned, and for a moment, the sky darkened. "Your 'people'!" She made a sound of disgust. "Your people can only see what's in front of _their_ noses too. They only tell you what they see, and leave you to figure out what is really going on! Do not trust them, Oswald. Trust no one."

"Victor said that I should trust myself," Oswald offered.

"But of course," Gertrud said. "You're the only one who can be trusted. Along with your mother and father."

"Father…" Oswald frowned. "Where is he?"

Gertrud's smile had a touch of sadness. "Elijah, he knows how much you've missed me. He does not want to intrude on our time together, even though I have told him that I see the two of you together. I see how much you care for each other."

Oswald sighed. "It wasn't me, Mother. I was brainwashed."

"By that horrible man!" Gertrud shuddered and stroked his face as though she needed to reassure herself that he was really there. "I know, but you could not have been so soft and gentle if there were not some part of you that was that way."

"But I can't afford to _be_ that way, Mother," Oswald argued. "I can't be weak in front of--"

"Gentleness is not weakness," Gertrud said firmly. "My Elijah, he is gentle and kind."

"But he wouldn't marry you," Oswald whispered. "Even after his parents died, he didn't try to find you."

Gertrud nodded, her expression solemn. "I have seen these things with my eyes, Oswald. I know."

"Then why…?"

"I forgive him because I love him, my Oswald," Gertrud murmured. "Holding onto bitterness in my heart, it is too much when I know I can be happy with him." She leaned down and gave him a conspiratorial smile. "We are together now, my Oswald. He has always loved me in his heart, and when he came, we were married in the most _beautiful_ church. Now, nothing can separate us."

Oswald smiled back. "Good."

Gertrud nodded. "Love is not a weakness. Never." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "You know this is true, Oswald."

"Yes, Mother," he lied.

***

The first time it happened, he was in the middle of a dinner with Sofia Falcone. One minute, he was taking a bite of salmon, his eye attracted by the flicker of candlelight off the rim of a glass of white wine.

There was a flash of light, like a flashbulb going off in front of his eyes.

The next, he was walking on a dock--

No, being grabbed in a warehouse--

"Oswald?"

On life support in a hospital room--

Opening a corpse in a morgue--

"Oswald! Call 911! Now!"

Slamming into someone at a rock concert--

Being pummeled on cracked pavement--

Oswald gasped for air. He felt his shoulder being grabbed like it belonged to someone else, and then he felt like he'd been slammed back into his own body. He was laying on the floor with his tie loosened, his vest and shirt opened, and Sofia bent over him, her hands cupping his face, her dark eyes wide. His stomach churned.

"Oswald?" she said, gently patting his cheek. "Oswald!"

Oswald sucked in more air, one arm blindly pushing her back so that her dark fall of hair wasn't near his face. He coughed a few times, and struggled to sit up.

"Oswald, wait, be careful," Sofia said quickly. "You should stay down, make sure that you won't injure yourself--"

"I'm fine," Oswald wheezed, fighting his way up to a sitting position and waving her away impatiently. He grimaced for a moment, concentrating on making sure what little food he'd eaten didn't make an unscheduled reappearance. When he was satisfied that he wouldn't embarrass himself, his grin was sharp and toothy. 

"Oswald?" Sofia frowned. "Are you all right?"

Still grinning, Oswald looked at her, faintly seeing the family resemblance between her and her father. "Never better."

***

Oswald's eyes snapped open to find himself on the floor yet _again_ , this time with Victor staring at him from two inches away.

"Hey, you figured it out," Zsasz said. "Cool."

"Very funny," Oswald grunted. He shoved half-heartedly at Victor to get him to move back, but accepted the hand that Victor offered. When he was back on his feet, his free hand leaning on his desk for support, he glared at Zsasz.

"This is worse than useless, Victor," he snapped, taking a moment to close his eyes and press a hand to his stomach. "Every time it happens, I end up flat on my back and sick to my stomach."

Victor shrugged. "Nobody said it was gonna be easy, Boss. You're a mortal trying to use power that wasn't meant to be contained in this kinda space." He nudged Oswald's shoulder.

Oswald swatted his hand away. "There _has_ to be a way to use it effectively. I just have to figure out _how_."

"Well, what happened the first time it happened?"

"I was with Sofia Falcone," Oswald snapped. "I'm not about to start hanging around her more often just to put myself at her mercy. All it takes is one time for this… _ability_ to happen when I'm vulnerable, and then I'll get my throat slit."

"Fine, then don't hang around Sofia Falcone," Victor said. "What is it that you want to do with the being able to see the whole city, anyway? There's a couple million people in it."

"I need to be able to see who's plotting against me, against the city," Oswald explained, feeling remarkably patient. "I need to see what they're doing so that I can stop them."

Victor shrugged. "So focus on them."

"And _how_ exactly am I supposed to do that if I don't know who they _are?_ " Oswald snapped.

Victor blinked. "Okay, so focus on somebody else. You don't care about the whole city. You just want to see one or two people, right?" He pointed at the wineglass on Oswald's desk -- the same wineglass Oswald had been staring at before he'd went on an unscheduled trip around the city. "So look at them."

Oswald looked at the wineglass, trying to ignore the fact that Zsasz was staring at him without blinking. He also tried not to feel stupid for staring at a wineglass--

The flashbulb went off in front of his eyes, and then he was in a well-appointed office. He was sitting at a mahogany desk, looking up at a woman holding a manila folder. 

**"I looked into his mayoral career from start to finish, ma'am,"** the woman said, approaching the desk and laying down the folder. She opened it and methodically laid out newspaper clippings from left to right. **"He was almost always seen in the company of this man--"**

She touched the clipping in front of Oswald.

Oswald's body jerked in surprise.

 **"How very interesting,"** came the purred response from where Oswald sat. **"I've never met him in person. I assume something happened?"**

Oswald started breathing faster. 

**"Yes, ma'am,"** the woman replied, and produced two more clippings. The first, dated almost six months ago, read THE RIDDLER STRIKES AGAIN! The article underneath a picture of a building with structural damage covered the Riddler's past crimes in lurid detail.

The second was from Oswald's press conference a few weeks ago. Oswald was standing in front of the Iceberg Lounge's newest centerpiece, pointing at the block of ice with a triumphant smile.

 **"What a magnificent sculpture,"** the woman murmured, picking up the second clipping and touching a finger to where the man's face was barely visible through the haze of the ice. **"It's such a shame it's no longer there."**

 **"True, but a man fitting this description has been seen in the Narrows recently,"** the woman added. **"Perhaps that will make up for the sculpture's absence?"**

She glanced up at the woman, a smile in her voice. **"Thank you, Miss Winters, that will be all."**

Miss Winters left, and Oswald felt the woman lean back in her chair before lifting a hand. A man stepped forward, his suit emphasizing how burly he was.

 **"Mr. Rosselli, I'd like you to find this man. Bring him to me."** When the man started looking eager, she added, **"Unharmed, please. I want to speak with him."**

Rosselli frowned in confusion. **"Speak with him?"**

Oswald struggled for air.

 **"Of course."** She laughed. **"He might prove an interesting... ally."**

 **"And if he doesn't wanna talk, Miss Falcone?"** Rosselli asked.

Oswald could hear the smile in her voice. **"Be persuasive."**

A sharp slap caught him across the cheek, and when he whipped his head back to see who had done it, Oswald was staring into Zsasz's unblinking eyes.

"Ed," he gasped, hands grabbing at Victor's suit jacket. "She's going after _Ed_."

Zsasz stared at him for a long moment before sighing gently. "Welcome to test number three, Boss."


	4. Third Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bitch figuring out the powers that you _just_ got.
> 
> Also, Ed Nygma is Oswald's #1 adversary. Even when he's brain-damaged. Because of course he is.
> 
> Shhh.

Oswald sank into his chair, his heart still racing, his stomach twisting sharply. "Test number-- What? We need to find Ed."

"Test number three, Boss." Zsasz walked around Oswald's desk to stand in front of him, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and patience. "I mean, you can scry at will now, so I'm guessing that's test number two down. You still have to get the hang of it, but you understand the basics."

Oswald gaped at him. "Are you not _listening_ to me, Victor?" he demanded, yanking his phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. "I don't give a damn about some test-- we need to find Ed. _Now._ "

"And we're off to a great start," Victor muttered. "What're you doing?"

"I'm calling my men," Oswald snapped. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Stop thinking like a mortal." Zsasz reached over with deliberate care and closed Oswald's cellphone. Then he tapped on Oswald's wineglass with a gloved finger. "And start thinking like a king, Boss."

Oswald stared uncomprehendingly at the wineglass before he remembered himself. He breathed in deeply and focused on the shine of the glass. _Where are you?_

The flashbulb went off in front of his eyes, and he was in a dingy apartment, crammed with furniture that was falling apart. He dimly heard a child coughing outside of the room through the open door, but he was watching from behind the eyes of someone who wore glasses.

A familiar-looking woman with long, straight hair stepped into view, holding a penlight and flashing it into one of his eyes, making Oswald flinch.

 **"No more pupil dilation, which is good,"** she murmured, and Oswald couldn't help thinking there was something familiar about her. Something related to Jim Gordon.

 _Which doesn't make sense,_ Oswald thought sourly. _Why am I seeing this woman instead of Ed? Where_ is _he?_

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and then he caught sight of whose eyes he was using in a cracked, dirty mirror.

"Ed," Oswald breathed, faintly aware that his heart was beating just a little faster.

"Nygma?" Zsasz asked, his voice startlingly loud in Oswald's ear. "You found him?"

Oswald winced, slapping ineffectually at Zsasz to get him to _shut up_ so he could hear. "Shhh!"

 **"Thank you, Dr. Thompkins,"** Ed murmured, watching her steadily as she pocketed the penlight and reached out to lift his chin and turn his head. **"I thought the amphetamines would help my concentration."**

Dr. Thompkins... yes. Her name was Lee. She had been seeing Jim Gordon at some point. She'd been pregnant with his child.

 **"Considering that you were abusing them for a while after Penguin's 'death', it's no surprise that your body's built up a resistance to them,"** she said dryly. **"I was wondering if you had some kind of death wish."**

 **"No, no death wish,"** Ed murmured. Out of the corner of Ed's eye, Oswald could see more dingy, depressing details -- mold growing on the walls, crumbling drywall from water damage. It had to be a tenement house of some kind, but that didn't really narrow down where Ed was in the Narrows.

 **"You could've fooled me,"** Dr. Thompkins said.

**"Why? What do you mean?"**

**"Your gimmick is Grundy beating up people dressed like Penguin,"** she said flatly. **"You don't think that's going to get you killed the second Penguin finds out about it?"**

 **"It's not like he cares,"** Ed grumbled petulantly. **"I'm not smart anymore, so I can't _possibly_ do anything to hurt him now."**

 **"Well, whatever's wrong with you isn't physical,"** Dr. Thompkins said, picking up a plastic shopping bag and setting it on a table to restock a glass cabinet.

 **"It _has_ to be,"** Ed snarled. **"There's no other explanation for what's wrong with me."**

 **"I can show you the CAT scan again, if you'd like,"** she said dryly.

 **"No, no,"** Ed said, waving a hand at her impatiently. **"We already know that the equipment works, even if it's second-rate--"**

 **"We bribed a lab tech to take a scan of someone who wasn't a patient."** From her tone, this was an argument she and Ed had had before. **"If the equipment is up to code enough to be used in a hospital--"**

 **"Oh, please, we both know that--"** Ed stopped, frowning in frustration. He made a gesture with one hand, trying to describe something very large, and then shaking his head. **"The people with money. They never have enough of it."**

Dr. Thompkins stared at him, and this looked like a long-familiar routine for her too. **"Investors. Donors."**

**"No, the ones who're _supposed_ to give them money--"**

**"The government--"**

**" _Yes. Them._ "** Ed's sigh of relief sounded like someone had just punched him. **"They never have enough money to make sure the machines are the latest--"**

Dr. Thompkins turned on her heel to face Ed. **"As _fascinating_ as this conversation is, I'd like to go back to seeing patients that don't waste my time."**

Oswald could only imagine what kind of glare Ed was giving her right now. **"Fine."** He hopped off some kind of chair or stool and picked up his ridiculous suit jacket. **"See you tonight, Dr. Thompkins,"** he added with a smirk in his voice.

Dr. Thompkins gave him a sour look, but turned her back on him, digging through a cabinet. **"Send in the next person on your way out."**

Oswald felt his stomach start to rebel, but took slow, deep breaths, fighting to stay with Ed as he left the room. Ed nodded to a rail-thin woman in the hallway outside before mounting a rickety flight of stairs. When he got outside, he melted into the flow of foot traffic.

"Come on, Ed," Oswald grumbled. "Look at the damn street signs."

As if Ed had heard him, he glanced up for a moment, but then returned his attention to the sidewalk.

"Very _funny_."

Ed took a moment to glance at his watch, and Oswald fought down a pang in his chest when he saw the wristwatch he'd gotten Ed for his birthday last year, before the mess with Isabella began. **"Let's see... Grundy should be still be at Cherry's, which means I can grab a bite to eat."**

 _Cherry's?_ Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, braced himself for impact as he returned to his own body, and fought down the wave of nausea that swept through him.

"So?" Zsasz drawled. "Where are we going?"

"Cherry's," Oswald said with a confused frown. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Fight club in the Narrows," Victor offered immediately. "It's full of guys who can't afford licenses."

Oswald groaned as he poured himself a drink, threw it back, and grimaced. "Of course it is. Have my car brought around." He thought quickly, and added, "Bring Victor too."

At Zsasz's confused look, Oswald sighed. "The _other_ Victor."

***

"So what's the game plan?" Fries asked, staring down at Oswald with his unnerving pale blue eyes.

Oswald leaned back in his seat, stretching his leg out gingerly between the two Victors and bouncing his good knee in a fit of nerves. "We go to Cherry's, we get Ed, we head back to the Lounge."

Fries frowned. "You mean the guy you had on ice at the Lounge? Am I freezing him again?"

" _No,_ " Really, Fries was like a dog who wouldn't listen, sometimes. "Don't freeze anybody unless they're attacking us."

"And if Ed's the one doing the attacking?" Fries asked.

"Freeze his feet," Oswald said impatiently. "Or his hands. Something. Just don't freeze him entirely again."

"Gotcha."

Zsasz hummed, turning to look at Oswald.

"What?" Oswald snapped, feeling defensive.

"It's nice that we're going to go kidnap Nygma and all," Zsasz drawled. "But why are we doing it?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Oswald spluttered. "Sofia Falcone wants to recruit Ed to come after me!"

Zsasz eyed Fries, who frowned. "Didn't you say that he was brain-damaged from the freezing? What does it matter that she wants him for an ally?"

"Because the last time Ed allied with people who wanted to run the criminal underworld, I ended up being betrayed, shot, and dumped in the Gotham River!" Oswald snarled. "I'm not about to let him get away with it a second time!"

Both Victors traded a look over Oswald's head.

"Speaking of which," Oswald said pointedly, straightening his shoulders and bracing himself, "I need to check on things."

Zsasz reached into his pocket and pulled out a compact mirror. "Here, Boss."

Oswald scowled at him.

"It'll help," Zsasz explained. "Promise."

Oswald shot him another suspicious look before he stared into the mirror.

The flashbulb went off faster than before, which was odd, but Oswald now had an excellent vantage point for the interior of the club. The octagonal ring that commanded a large portion of the open space was dusty and bare, the area around it devoid of people except for someone pushing a broom. Thick, wooden load-bearing beams stood around the edges, with lights hung haphazardly from them. A fully-stocked bar was nestled to one side, far enough away from the ring to avoid any collateral damage, but close enough to allow the audience to easily get drinks. 

Oswald wished he could force whoever he'd jumped into to look around more closely, notice the entrances and exits, look for available places to duck into, but he was forced to look away from the room as a whole to notice Ed approaching, beaming up at him in approval. Ed's tongue was even peeking between his teeth like it did when he was thoroughly pleased.

Oswald felt his heart stutter, because for just a moment, it was like they were back at the mansion again, with Ed giddy over a new puzzle to solve, or a new opponent to outwit and humiliate. His breath caught, and what he wouldn't _give_ to feel Ed in his arms again, even after everything that had happened between them in the past year.

Ed's hair was touchably messy, his soft, brown eyes alive with excitement.

And then Ed reached out and gave his arm a hearty, companionable slap. **"Hey, big guy,"**

Oswald resisted the urge to have the man Ed was addressing murdered on sight.

 **"Ready for tonight?"** Ed asked, looking over at the man's right arm. **"That was a hell of a hit you took last night. Here, lemme see."**

The man -- he had unnaturally white skin with faint black veins -- lifted his arm obediently. When Ed prodded a wicked-looking gash that had been crudely stapled, it leaked.

"...water?" Oswald murmured.

"What?"

Oswald slapped at the source of the question, and winced as his hand banged against a metal suit.

 **"I don't know much about medicine,"** Ed admitted, shaking his hand firmly to get the water off, **"But you look good to go."**

 **"Pretty lady fixed me,"** the man said.

Ed nodded absent-mindedly. **"Yeah, Lee is pretty good at that. You can move your arm around? There's no pain? … Oh, wow, I guess not."**

 **"Pretty lady said Ed leave soon."**

Ed looked up sharply at that. **"Oh, she did, did she?"** His grin was malevolent. **"Well, I'm leaving as soon as she fixes my--"** He tapped his head a few times. **"If she thinks I'm leaving soon, that must mean she was lying about there being nothing wrong with my brain."**

Oswald wasn't sure _he_ could follow Ed's logic anymore than the man apparently could because Ed sighed heavily.

 **"Lee is supposed to fix this old noodle,"** Ed said in his "I'm Trying to Be Patient" tone. **"And then I'm leaving. We can figure out what to do from there."**

 **"Grundy go with Ed?"** The man sounded hopeful. Completely idiotic, but hopeful.

 **"Of course 'Grundy go with Ed',"** Ed scoffed. **"It's not like I can leave my main money-maker behind, can I? Oh, and yes, we'll figure out who you used to be. Definitely."**

Oswald snorted. He knew that tone all right. Ed was covering his ass with this 'Grundy'.

**"You hungry, big fella? I got some hot dogs for us."**

**"Grundy like hot dogs."**

Oswald squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself before he was unceremoniously thrown back into his body. "He's still there," he managed, taking a few deep breaths and trying to settle his stomach. The mention of food had reminded him how hungry he was himself, but he would have time to eat later, after he had Ed under his personal protection. "Someone's with him, a large man with white skin. He calls himself 'Grundy'."

"Heard a rumor that Cherry had a new cash cow," Zsasz offered. "Maybe we'll get to see him in action."

They pulled up to Cherry's, Fries getting out first and waiting on the sidewalk while pedestrians gave him a wide berth, very pointedly not looking at the man in the glowing metal suit. Oswald and Zsasz followed suit, and headed for the front door.

"Victor, cover the back," Oswald ordered, motioning to the Victor in the tin can. "If Ed or anyone else tries to escape, freeze them just enough to stop them."

"Gotcha." With that, Fries headed down the alley next to the club.

"You sure you don't want me to do it, Boss?" Zsasz asked.

"I want whoever tries to escape captured, not shot," Oswald explained. He straightened the lapels of his suit jacket before nodding to Zsasz, who knocked on the front door briskly.

A speakeasy grille slid aside, revealing a pair of dull grey eyes. They quickly took in the two of them, and then zeroed in on Oswald. "We're paid up for the rest of the year."

"That's nice. Go get Cherry," Oswald said with his most charming smile. He leaned on his cane and let Zsasz loom appropriately. "Now."

"Hang on." The grille slid shut. Then the locks were thrown and the door opened, revealing a thin man a mop of dull brown hair. "Cherry's not here."

Oswald waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind. I'm looking for Ed Nygma," he said, eyeing what he could see of the place. There was the octagonal ring, the bar... They must have ducked into a back room. He turned his attention back to the man. "I know he's here."

"Don't know him." When Oswald bristled, he shrugged and stepped back, out of the way. "But maybe he's here. I'll let Cherry know you came."

Oswald nodded graciously, watching him disappear into another room. When he turned his attention back to the club at large, he heard commotion in the back and the whine of Fries's freeze ray starting up.

He and Zsasz traded a look before Zsasz advanced, gun up and ready.

Fries joined them a moment later, checking over his freeze ray with a bored look. "Some thug out back," he explained.

There was a sharp shout from behind a closed door.

Oswald glanced at Fries, who grunted and lifted his freeze ray before heading towards the door.

Zsasz eased the door open a crack, and glanced at Oswald with a raised eyebrow.

Oswald could guess the question Zsasz was asking. _You want I should shoot 'em, Boss?_

Oswald shook his head, motioning for Zsasz to come away from the door, and nodding to Fries.

"See what I mean about Grundy?" Ed asked, his tone somewhere between mocking and jubilant. "He wouldn't be able to throw a fight, even if I asked him to."

There was another sharp cry, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

"All right, fucker," came a man's voice that Oswald had never heard before. "If he won't throw the fight, then I'll make sure both of you throw it by not being around."

Fries reared back and kicked open the door, firing into the room without hesitation.

"Son of a bitch!" came a surprised curse before both Victors marched into the room, followed by Oswald.

"Dammit, Victor!" Oswald moved further into the room, his heart pounding in his chest until he saw for himself that Ed was unharmed. "I said not to freeze Ed!"

"And I didn't," Fries grunted, nodding at Ed and the man standing next to him.

"What--" Ed began to say before he caught sight of who'd interrupted their little meeting. His mouth thinned to a joyless line as he looked at Oswald. "Oswald."

"Hello, Ed." Now that he could take in the whole room, Oswald couldn't say that he was surprised by what he saw. Judging from what he'd heard and where everyone was standing, it was a classic intimidation tactic. Two thugs and someone who was likely the brains of the operation were staring at them in open surprise. A fourth man was on the floor, trying to get up and not having much success. Ed and 'Grundy' stood across from them.

Oswald's initial assumptions about Ed's new muscle had been correct: he was almost as tall as Ed, had a large frame, and unnaturally white skin. He was also wearing a light-colored vest and pants with no shirt.

'Grundy' was also looking at his right arm with some confusion. It was covered in a block of ice dense enough that Oswald could barely see the man's arm through it.

Oswald glanced at 'Grundy's' face, turned to Fries, and then did a double-take. "Butch?!"

'Grundy' frowned, his eyes lifting from the block of ice encasing his arm to look at Oswald. 

"He goes by Grundy now," Ed said, his gaze switching between Fries's freeze ray and the thugs standing across from him. "Don't you, big guy?"

Grundy let out a hum that was almost a growl, still staring at Oswald and showing no sign of recognizing him at all. "Who is little man?"

"Hey!" the brains of the little shakedown operation said, proving that he did _not_ have much brains to speak of. "I don't give a fuck who _you_ are, but if you've got business with the pencil-neck here, you can wait outside until we're done. Got it?"

Oswald stared at the man openly -- sturdy frame, dirty blond hair, a somewhat sure grip on the Glock in his hands -- and rolled his eyes. "Victor, if you would?"

The freeze ray caught Mr. No-Brains in the chest at the same time that a neat, round, red hole appeared in the middle of his forehead. When the body hit the floor, the ice-encased torso landed with a thunk and made a small divot in the concrete.

Oswald hadn't necessarily intended for both Victors to fire at once, but he smiled with evident pleasure at the three thugs that were left. Well, two-and-a-half, really, since the one who'd attempted to tangle with Grundy was still useless.

"You left one of your compatriots outside," he said. "I think the ice will thaw in--" He turned to Fries. "What, a few hours?"

"Maybe a day or two," Fries replied before aiming at the thug nearest Ed and charging his freeze ray again.

"Now, the way I see it, you have two options," Oswald offered to the one who looked marginally more intelligent than the other two. "You can either leave here alive and well and _never_ return to this establishment. Or you can die very quickly, and someone will have to dump your bodies in the river."

The thugs still standing raised their hands in surrender. The one on his knees made some sort of vague motion that he wasn't a threat.

"Drop your weapons," Zsasz ordered.

They did.

"Now you may leave," Oswald added.

Thankfully, they didn't need to be told twice. There was something vaguely heartwarming about them picking up their injured third man and carrying him between them. When they were gone, Oswald turned his attention on Ed.

"Getting shaken down by thugs, Ed? Really?" Oswald asked. He waved a hand at Butch, who was still staring at the ice block encasing his arm and waving it up and down in an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge it. "For Butch here to throw a fight?"

"His name is Grundy," Ed insisted almost petulantly. "And he's getting to be quite the-- uh." He made a vague motion with one hand, making it look like a firework going off. He repeated the sign a few times before he visibly gave up and looked even more annoyed.

"There you go again, latching onto whoever's more powerful than you so you can reap the benefits," Oswald said blithely before looking at Butch... no, whoever this man was now, he wasn't Butch. Even so, maybe using his old name might spark something. "You really don't recognize me, Butch? Oswald Cobblepot?"

"Oswald," Grundy said slowly. He looked at Ed.

Ed stared at Fries and lifted his hands slowly. "Tell him to put the freeze ray away, Oswald."

"In a minute." Oswald smirked. "This is too amusing. So, Butch? You don't remember me at all? Or Ed here?"

"Ed Grundy best friend," Grundy said without hesitation.

Oswald's eyebrows rose sharply, but before he could say anything else, Zsasz stepped forward, training his gun on Grundy.

Grundy's eyes widened for a moment before he bared his teeth in a furious snarl. "You!"

"Looks like he remembers something," Zsasz said quickly.

**Grundy roaring at Zsasz and charging-- Ed pulling a gun-- Bullet to Ed's shoulder--**

The flash of foresight was so unexpected that Oswald barely had enough time to knock Zsasz's arm away, the shot going wild.

Grundy charged at Zsasz, driving his ice-encased arm into Zsasz's face like a battering ram. If it weren't for the fact Oswald knew that Zsasz was something more than human, he would've been worried.

As it was, he was faced with Ed, who had a gun out and was aiming it at him.

**Bullet to the left shoulder, ice shot to Ed's cheek--**

"No!" Oswald shouted. He leaned hard on his bad leg, gritting his teeth against the explosion of pain, and then hobbled forward at a full gallop. He could see the moment that Fries lifted the freeze ray, the ice plasma as it shot out of the gun.

 _"Ed!"_ he screamed, and launched himself forward.

He felt himself connect with Ed's chest, his face turning to his right as the momentum carried him forward. The whine of the freeze ray was loud and grating in his ears, and for a wild moment, he found himself wishing that he was holding Ed in his arms because Ed gave a damn about him and not because of--

 _There was a sudden sensation, somewhere between rippling and being stabbed with thousands of needles all over his body all at once. It was like landing in the Gotham River face-first in the middle of November, the unnatural_ cold _punching the air out of him as his body continued its forward momentum. He suddenly remembered sinking into the river, Ed's face above him, watching him sink deeper and deeper into blackness, the water between them distorting his face into something that screamed and laughed and glowed with a malevolent green light._

 _But there was something--_ someone _in his arms, and suddenly it wasn't just needles stabbing into him everywhere. The pain swirled around his skin, burning and freezing and searching for weaknesses. Oswald hoped that scars wouldn't provide a foothold--_

_Different parts of his body exploded in pain._

_A chair slammed into his head, his torso. A table leg slammed into his knee, his ankle. One. Two. Three._

_His skin snapped and crackled and burned with electricity._

_Gunshots rang in his ears. And then bullets. They punched into his shoulder, his gut, places where he hadn't been shot, but the pain ricocheted through him._

_Tendrils of fire reached in and extracted the bullets again._

Oswald screamed, tears pouring freely down his face.

And then he was tackling Ed onto a couch in a dark room.

They landed in an undignified heap, Oswald's face smashing into Ed's chest, and Ed landing on his back. There was a sharp crack, and Ed let out a loud, offended yelp of pain. Oswald's leg had twisted when they landed, leaving him in even more pain than before.

Oswald attempted to push himself up, but the room took several sharp turns and spirals, his stomach only a few turns behind. The next thing he knew, he was face-first on the floor, his neck wrenched in one direction, his cheek mashed into stiff carpet, his legs still awkwardly sprawled over Ed.

"Tackling someone who's aiming a gun at you? Really?" Ed asked, mocking Oswald's tone from earlier. "Anyone else would've ducked for cover, but _no_ , you're the indestructible Penguin, aren't you?"

There was an angry shove, and the rest of Oswald's body fell onto the floor. His knee banged against the carpet, sending a fresh wave of pain and nausea through him. He would've howled if he'd been able, but instead, he felt bile rise in his throat.

"Well, _I've_ got a gun now, and you're just laying there like a dead fish…"

Ed's voice trailed off, and then there was a long silence.

Oswald was tempted to ask what in the world would be able to shut up Ed Nygma, seeing as how the man was so completely incapable of doing it to save his life ever since he took up that insipid moniker, but the bile in his throat was sharp and foul. He tried to choke it back, but only managed to spit some out onto the carpet against his face.

"How?" Ed sounded _mystified_. "Oswald--"

Hands were on his face, under his right shoulder. It took Ed an embarrassing amount of time to heave him over onto his back -- he wasn't _fat_ , and he didn't appreciate the implication. Then there were hands grabbing him by the suit lapels, lifting him up to a sitting position, and Ed's beautiful eyes were right there, looking at him with a mixture of unsettled wonder and fear. 

"Oswald, can you hear me?" One of Ed's hands wiped at his lips, but Oswald didn't have the strength to bite him. Ed looked at his hand and grimaced before he frowned at it with visible alarm.

Oswald blinked, and when he tried to move his head, he snapped his eyes shut again at the world taking a sudden swoop and drop. He coughed more bile, his throat burning.

"Oswald!" Two hands grabbing his clothes, a sudden, hard shake.

The darkness behind his eyes dragged him into unconsciousness, and Oswald passed out.


	5. Setting Up the Chessboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a bit of teleportation between friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sharvie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharvie) continues to be the most amazing beta reader everrrr. Thank youuuu. <3

It was dark where Oswald was. He wasn't sure if he was sitting, standing, or floating. All he knew was that he felt weightless, and there was nothing around him but black.

"Oswald."

Oswald turned, trying to find the source of the voice. "Father?"

  
[](https://imgur.com/Pn5cdH8)  
  


"I'm here." The darkness parted, and Elijah stepped forward. He was wearing one of the suits he usually wore at the dinner table, impeccable and clean.

"Then I must be dreaming again," Oswald murmured, looking around. "But I don't understand. Why does it look like this? Why isn't Mother here?"

Elijah looked around with a disinterested air before returning his attention to his son. "I asked her for time to speak with you alone. As men of the Van Dahl family, I think we might be able to better understand each other with regard to matters of the heart. You understood about the darkness in our family, after all."

"I did. I still do." Oswald frowned. "But that doesn't answer why we're here...?"

Elijah's eyebrows rose. "Would you prefer a place that brings you pain?"

What had once been a featureless void began to transform. Paintings of dead family members were sketched by invisible pencils, and then paint was dabbed onto them, quick and light. Rich wooded walls appeared, and then a table, a chessboard. The pieces were grey until each one was dabbed with color, black or white. Then the carpet. And finally, a roaring fire was painted into the fireplace, the red and orange light dabbed ever so gently across all of the furniture and even on Elijah's face and hair. With that last touch, Oswald recognized the cozy den where he and his father played chess in the evenings.

Oswald looked around, taking in all of the paintings before picking up the black king from the chessboard and tracing a finger along the cross of its crown. "There was one dream where Mother brought me to a field of flowers."

Elijah nodded, sitting down gingerly in front of the white army. "She was very fond of flowers." He started to put the pieces back one by one before his dark eyes lifted to Oswald's. "But you and I aren't suited for flowers."

Oswald shook his head. "We could go somewhere else. Something that was happy for you."

Elijah shook his head. "For better or worse, this _is_ where my happiest memories were, Oswald. I met your mother here, and this is where I brought you to start our new life together. I wouldn't trade those memories for all the money in the world."

Oswald found he couldn't hold his father's gaze for long. He turned his attention to the chessboard, returning the black army to their starting positions. "You wanted to speak to me. About matters of the heart."

Elijah nodded. "Love is an ancient power, stronger than death."

Oswald frowned, feeling like someone had said those words to him before, but not being able to place who said them until-- "Edwige."

Elijah examined a black bishop carefully, picking at the rounded top with the edge of his fingernail before offering it to Oswald. "You've been quoting her recently. She might not have the kind of power you will, but she's very competent. You would do well to listen to her."

Oswald set the bishop down on his right side. "How is that supposed to help me?"

Elijah's dark eyes bored into his. "Your young man is here, isn't he?"

Oswald felt his cheeks flush. "He's not _my_ young man."

"Well, if he's not, then you'd better tell him to stop taking care of you," Elijah said with a sly smile.

Oswald's gaze snapped up from the board. "What do you mean?"

Elijah motioned to Oswald's left, where a wineglass stood, polished to a mirror shine. "See for yourself." When Oswald reared back from the glass, Elijah shook his head. "It won't make you sick, Oswald. Just look."

Oswald looked, and in the reflection, there was Ed carrying a silver tea service and nudging a door closed with his foot.

"He doesn't love me anymore," Oswald muttered. "He doesn't want anything except for a chance to kill me and to call himself that stupid _name_."

Elijah sighed, and motioned to the fire. A couch was painted into existence in front of it, where Ed and Oswald sat, staring at each other intently.

 _"I want you to know, Oswald, that I would do anything for you,"_ Ed said with a sweet smile, his throat covered in horrible bruising that stood out against his skin.

Oswald shook his head, banishing the simulacrum of himself and Ed with a firm wave of his hand. "That was before."

"Do you truly think that someone like Isabella--" Elijah picked up a white pawn from the middle of the board and placed it on his side. "--could come between the two of you?"

Oswald looked away from the table, into a dark corner where the firelight didn't reach. "She already has."

Elijah hummed in thought as he eyed the chessboard. "When Gertrud left, I was inconsolable for weeks. My parents told me to banish her from my mind, that they had given her money to leave, and that she'd taken it without a second thought."

Oswald scowled. "What's the point of telling me this, Father?"

"To ask you a question, my son," Elijah said mildly, his eyes lifting again to meet Oswald's. "Whose name has been on his lips for nearly a year?"

***

Oswald felt himself come awake slowly. His nerves chose that moment to wake up as well, first as tickling sensations that made him feel like spiders were racing up and down his entire body, and then strengthening into a dull ache that made his entire body pulse with pain.

As uncomfortable as the process was, it was when he started to notice being relatively comfortable that he knew he was fully awake.

He was laying on his back somewhere soft and warm, covered with a downy comforter. As he shifted his arms and his good leg, he could tell that he had been stripped out of the suit jacket and vest he'd been wearing before his unscheduled trip into unconsciousness. The pillow under his head was fluffy but firm. He could smell fresh sheets, the scent of an old house. His mouth still tasted like something had died in it, but considering how many times he'd start his day with a hangover, Oswald had gotten used to dealing with it as part of his morning routine.

He tried moving again, and found that his bad knee and ankle weren't as completely useless as he'd been expecting.

Oswald managed to crack an eye open.

"There you are," Ed said, standing from the armchair he'd apparently brought into the room, only to sit down on the edge of Oswald's bed, his hip near Oswald's hand where it lay under the covers.

Oswald fought to keep his eyes open. " 'Time is it?"

"It's almost seven-thirty. You've been asleep for roughly four hours and ten minutes." Ed sounded almost professional, his words clipped. "We're back at the mansion -- somehow -- and you haven't coughed up anymore bile since you went…" His voice trailed off, and he frowned darkly. One hand started to make a vague motion.

"Unconscious?" Oswald offered.

Ed's lips tightened to a thin line. "Exactly."

"Still--" Oswald stopped to lick his lips.

Ed grabbed a glass from the bedside table, and brought a brightly-colored straw to Oswald's lips.

Oswald blinked, and then sucked on the straw for a moment, the water cool and refreshing as it hit his tongue. He swallowed, and then turned his face away. "You're still having trouble remembering words."

Oswald could almost _feel_ Ed bristling with resentment and wounded pride.

"And you're currently in bed after having passed out," Ed snapped. "So in case you don't get it, you're currently at _my_ mercy."

Oswald had been about to explain himself, but hearing that tone in Ed's voice made him sneer instead. "And _you're_ still not smart."

"Do I need to remind you that _I'm_ the one with a gun?"

Oswald's eyes slipped closed as he let out a breathless chuckle. "I bet you dropped it at the club when we collided."

Oswald knew without having to look that Ed was scowling. "I'm still in a position to do some major damage." That was _definitely_ a pout in his voice.

"You could," Oswald admitted softly. He turned his head toward Ed and opened his eyes. "But you won't."

"And why is that?" To any other person, Ed's bared teeth would be a warning sign. But Oswald had seen Ed at his most vulnerable, and he knew that Ed wasn't feeling confident about what to do at that moment.

"Because you want answers," Oswald pointed out, trying to smirk but just managing a hint of a smile. "And you won't get them if you strangle me." He spared a look around the room. "You also dragged me up a flight of stairs and stripped off my coat to put me in bed."

The muscles in Ed's jaw twitched. "So?"

"So why go to the trouble if you're just going to kill me?" Oswald whispered. "The Ed I know is efficient."

Ed drew himself up angrily. "I once murdered a scientist by blowing up the entire building he was in after filling it with--" He came to another verbal halt, his frustration almost palpable.

"With...?" Oswald prompted slowly, trying to think of something weird enough for Ed in full Riddler-mode. "Confetti?"

Ed shook his head firmly in negation at first, and then glared at Oswald. "Confetti? Seriously? Whoever died of _confetti_?"

"If anybody can figure out a way to kill someone with confetti, you can." Oswald had meant it to be cutting, because Ed was right -- whoever died of _confetti_? But Oswald had seen him slap together homemade bombs with relatively harmless things around the mansion, and then send them off with an assistant with simple instructions.

Ed shot him a suspicious look. "Gas, Oswald," he said, his tone caught somewhere between suspicion, condescension, and gentle correction. "Explosive gas. Light a match, and--" He made a vague gesture with his hands. "Boom."

"Ah," Oswald said dryly. "Well, if that's supposed to impress me, you're a few years too late."

Ed's expression was somewhere between exasperation and resentment. "How are you feeling? Coughing up anymore bile?"

Oswald sighed with relief. While his mouth was still something of a disaster, at least his own stomach wasn't adding to the horror. "No."

"That's a shame," Ed said, his right hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist. 

Oswald clenched his teeth in frustration. Would it have cost the man to be kind for a moment? But no, knowing Ed, he just didn't want to have to clean up another mess.

"So, how did we get here?" Ed demanded.

He knew what Ed wanted, but the opening was too good to pass up. "Because you got distracted by a woman who looked like your dead girlfriend, and I was too jealous to let you go."

Ed stared at him in complete bewilderment, his jaw working before he visibly stopped. One moment, he was that nervous, jittery loser at the GCPD, haunting Oswald around the bullpen. The next, Ed Nygma returned, his eyes narrowed, his expression forbidding. "Stop trying to change the subject."

Oswald exhaled slowly through his nose, feeling exhaustion weighing him down. "Then I don't know," he answered honestly. He opened his eyes to see Ed glaring at him. "I'm telling the truth."

Ed shook his head. "It only happened when you slammed into me and shouted my name. There has to be a logical explanation for it."

"It's not like I can magically teleport," Oswald said, trying to inject as much sarcasm as he could manage into his tone.

"But that's exactly what happened, for lack of a better term," Ed protested. "I can only assume I was brought with you because we were in physical contact when the event started." His gaze fixated on Oswald's lips before he added, "When it was happening, there was some kind of…" He motioned a haphazard, jerky kind of compression with both hands, scowling when he couldn't seem to find the right words to describe it. He shivered once, his eyes looking haunted for a moment before he finished with, "And then we were here."

Oswald narrowed his eyes, trying to bring Ed back into focus. "Something else happened, didn't it?"

Ed drew himself up, looking for all the world like a cat who fell off a countertop and was trying to pretend that he _meant_ to do that. "Maybe. Possibly."

Oswald exhaled through his nose. Fine. He'd let Ed keep his little secrets for now. It wasn't like Ed's information would've been useful in finding out more about this newfound ability of Oswald's. Not at _all._

"And then we were here," Oswald said in agreement. "Does your head hurt from where you hit it on the couch?"

Ed's eyes narrowed while he reached up and rubbed the back of his head gingerly. "Yes."

Oswald tried to smirk as obnoxiously as he could. "Good."

It was petty, and really wasn't up to Oswald's usual caliber of insult, but it was worth it. _See how he likes getting a taste of his own medicine,_ he thought sourly.

Ed glared at him. He was about to say something else when a tinny version of "Don't Fear the Reaper" played from his hip.

Oswald frowned at him, annoyed. "Why do you have my phone in your pocket?"

"Because it was done charging." Ed reached into his pocket and drew out Oswald's flip phone, looking down at the screen. "Zsasz is calling you."

"I _know_ he is," Oswald said waspishly. "He's the one who set that ringtone." He tried to free his hand from under the covers. "Give it to me."

"I don't think so." Ed's smirk wavered as he frowned. "He's already called five times. Huh."

"Well, if you'd let me _answer_ it--" Oswald finally wrestled his arm out from under the covers and made a weak swipe for the phone, which Ed casually batted away without looking up from the phone's readout.

Then Ed flipped the phone open. "Good evening," he trilled, aiming a particularly obnoxious smirk at Oswald. 

He listened for a moment, still smirking. "Well, it seems we have a bit of a conundrum here, don't we? I have something of yours..." He smirked at Oswald again. "And you've got my man there."

Oswald frowned. Had Ed ever referred to any pawns as "his men" in the past?

Ed listened for another moment, still smirking, and then flung the hand that wasn't holding the phone in a careless gesture. "Do what you want. He means--"

The scream -- which sounded eerily similar to the one Butch made when Oswald cut off his hand -- was loud enough for Oswald to hear.

Ed's eyes widened. "No, wait!"

Oswald watched in rapt attention as Ed squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, his lips moving in angry twitches.

It was like watching a plot twist in a movie that turned everything on its head. If Oswald didn't know any better, he would think that Ed actually _cared_ about the thing that Butch Gilzean had become.

" _Fine,_ " Ed snapped. "Oswald will get two minutes on the phone as proof of life--"

Ed bared his teeth suddenly. "One minute, starting now!"

He shoved the phone up to Oswald's ear, glaring at him, his jaw tight.

"Zsasz," Oswald managed, relieved but watching Ed carefully. Ed was apparently keeping up his end of the bargain, holding up Oswald's phone to his ear.

 _"Hey, Boss,"_ Zsasz said blithely, as if he didn't just have an exchange where he either had threatened Grundy, or possibly tortured him. _"You okay?"_

"Define 'okay'," Oswald snapped. "I passed out after we--" He tried to find a synonym for what happened that didn't sound _absolutely_ ridiculous, and just gave up. "-- _teleported_ to my father's mansion!"

 _"Really? Awesome,"_ Zsasz sounded entirely too pleased and congratulatory about the development.

"Victor! Seriously! I'm being held hostage by _Ed_ \--" Oswald spared a moment to glare back at Ed. "--in my own bedroom!" The only reason he hadn't started demanding an explanation was because the second he got one, Ed was going to insist on one himself, and Oswald wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

There was a heavy sigh over the phone. _"Well, we've got Grundy here, and apparently Nygma likes him enough that I'm sure we can settle for a trade,"_ Victor offered. _"Or you could, y'know, just kick his ass and get yourself out of there."_

Oswald eyed Ed, but wasn't surprised to find he was still the tall, lithe man he was when he was first thawed. Ed had never been a physical wonder -- his ability to outthink and outmaneuver his opponents had kept him from getting punched in the face more times than not, as Oswald had seen for himself while Ed served as his chief of staff. The only physical differences between the man before him and his chief of staff were that his cheekbones were a little sharper, and his hair was unkempt. Then again, bad food and not having access to a barber would do that to anyone in the Narrows.

It was honestly a little ridiculous how Ed could make looking incredibly disheveled attractive.

Oswald gingerly tried to get up, but when the effort left him exhausted, he grumbled, "That's not an option."

 _"Okay,"_ Zsasz said slowly. _"So what's the gameplan?"_

Oswald looked up at Ed, his eyes narrowing as he thought quickly. If they agreed to an exchange, it was possible he could betray Ed and catch both him and Grundy.

The thought brought him up short. Zsasz thought that he could get an exchange out of Ed. That Ed genuinely thought that Grundy was worth as just as much as Oswald. (Oswald refused to entertain the idea that Grundy was worth _more_.)

If Ed wanted Grundy back that badly, that meant he either thought that Grundy was that great an asset to him, which was possible. Bullets didn't scare him, and he was apparently able to disable normal men fairly easily.

 _Or…_ the thought came, soft and gentle, _he actually cares about Grundy._

Ed getting angry on the phone -- that wasn't Ed Nygma getting angry that one of his schemes was falling apart on him, that people weren't reacting like they were supposed to according to some script he'd cooked up in his head. No, that was the face of a man who was realizing too late that he'd made a mistake. That he cared about something more than he thought he had.

Oswald had seen that face in the mirror too many times.

"Tick tock, Oswald," Ed sneered. "Wouldn't want to keep Cue Ball in breathless anticipation now, would we?"

Oswald glared up at him, wanting to wipe that obnoxious smirk off his face.

Well, Ed had just made a mistake. Not just that, he'd revealed a _weakness_ , according to his own philosophy. Oswald may have let love weaken him, but Ed made himself weak because he had a _friend_ he didn't want to see get hurt.

Well, fine then.

If Ed cared about Grundy, that meant they could use Grundy to _control_ him.

And if they could do that, they could keep Ed away from Sofia almost indefinitely.

The solution was so elegantly simple, Oswald wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Then trouble was, if Oswald looked away from him for even a second, Ed would probably find Grundy somehow, and use his Butch-shaped wrecking ball to break out of whatever prison Oswald kept him in.

So, in order to guarantee Ed's compliance, they needed to be separated. And Oswald was willing to do anything to keep Ed away from Sofia.

Ed waggled the phone next to Oswald's ear, miming as if to take it away from him, his teeth glinting in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

And then it came to him.

"Change of plans, Victor," Oswald said quickly, still glaring at Ed. "Keep Grundy with you, _safe_ and unharmed. In exchange for Grundy's continued well-being, Ed agrees to stay with me here at the mansion until further notice."

Ed scowled darkly, his face alive with suspicion. But he wasn't yanking the phone away from Oswald's ear, so Oswald counted it as a win.

 _"...Boss?"_ Zsasz sounded mystified, and Oswald couldn't really say that he blamed him.

"You heard me, Victor. Keep Grundy safe, fed, watered-- whatever--" He cut himself off impatiently. "And in exchange, Ed stays here. Oh, and give Ed a chance to check in with Grundy." He smirked back at Ed, reveling in Ed's confused anger. "Make sure we're keeping our end of the bargain."

_"This is the first time I've heard of a King of the Underworld letting himself be held captive."_

Ed yanked the phone away from Oswald's ear, bringing it to his own. "Time's up, Zsasz. And no, I'm not agreeing to 'until further notice'." He sneered at Oswald. "I thought you knew me better than that, Oswald."

Oswald wanted to say something that would push Ed's buttons, just to show Ed how much Oswald _really_ knew him, but Ed stood up, his gaze distracted as he began to pace.

"Oh?" Ed purred into the phone. "I didn't think you were one for poetry."

Oswald told himself that feeling jealous of his _not human_ assassin was pointless and counterproductive.

Ed laughed, rich and full of confidence that he'd gotten the better end of the bargain. " 'Until the eaves of the Van Dahl manor are touched by the sun's first light' it is, then. Seeing as how it's now--" He checked his watch. "Almost eight PM, that should be in about ten hours, give or take. That's fine by me."

Oswald had to stop himself from leaping up, grabbing the phone, and strangling Zsasz through it. Mostly because he wasn't sure he could manage the 'leaping' part at the moment.

"Now, put Grundy on the phone. And tell him to hold it gently." Ed smiled a little, the kind of smile that wasn't aware other people could see it. "Big guy doesn't know his own strength most of the time."

There was a long silence as Ed paced, and then his head shot up like a dog catching a scent. "Grundy? Is that you?"

Ed spun on his heel, but not before Oswald caught the sight of his expression softening just a little.

"It's all right-- I know. I know you miss me, big guy. Stay where you are-- No, no. The bald man won't hurt you anymore."

Oswald rolled his eyes.

"They're going to take care of you until dawn. Yep, Ed and Grundy best friends. Uh huh. We'll see if we can get back to Pretty Lady. I know you like her. She's good at fixing people."

Ed turned absent-mindedly, affording Oswald a full view of his face as he frowned in confusion. "Fire _inside_ your arm? When he touched you?" He glanced up, and when he noticed Oswald, Ed gave him a deeply suspicious scowl. "Well, he's not going to do _that_ again."

He nodded a few times, and then said, "Okay, Grundy, I need you to pass the phone back to the bald man-- No, no, he won't hurt you." He visibly checked a groan. "Tell you what, put the phone on the ground. _Gently_."

Oswald stared. Since when had Ed ever treated anyone with kid gloves before?

Oswald gave into a moment of grumpy self-pity because Ed had rarely talked to _him_ that way -- worried about his well-being, offering suggestions on how to keep himself safe.

Ed had never _coddled_ him like this, even when Oswald was at his lowest. The one time that Oswald had needed someone to be kind to him, to help him, Ed had said that the new Oswald was "freaking him out" and had shown him the door. 

It had turned out for the best because Oswald had discovered that his father was alive and well and a kind man who loved and accepted him. But it had still hurt for Ed to turn his back on him so easily.

Now, to see Ed being so _patient_ with some version of Butch who had turned into some kind of monster with no memories, when all of the simpletons at City Hall had ever invited Ed's contempt and disdain....

Oswald was vindictively happy that Ed and Grundy were being separated, even if it was only for the night. And was Oswald going to have _words_ with Victor for offering such a ridiculously short time frame.

There was another pause, and Ed returned to business. "So, part of our deal now is -- Hello?" He pulled the phone away from his ear to squint at the display. "He hung up."

"I kind of _guessed_ that," Oswald snapped, motioning for the phone impatiently with his free hand. "Give me it here."

When Ed was close enough, Oswald swiped the phone from him and jabbed at the call log, and then jabbed the call button when he found Zsasz's number. He waited through two rings.

 _"Oh, hey, Boss."_ Victor said brightly. _"What's up?"_

Oswald closed his eyes, and breathed slowly in and out through his nose before he was calm enough to speak. "What the hell do you mean 'what's up'?!"

Ed scowled. "Make sure he doesn't hurt Grundy," he whispered.

"Hold on, Victor--" Oswald snapped before covering the receiver with his other hand. "Seriously, Ed? We already agreed to that before you started trying to make more demands!" He threw in a sneer for good measure. "Your _friend_ will be just fine."

"He's not my friend." Ed sneered back. "He makes me a lot of money. That's all."

"Mm-hm, keep telling yourself that," Oswald said, uncovering the receiver and turning his attention back to Zsasz. "What did you say?"

_"I said you sound upset."_

"You're damn right, I sound upset!" Oswald shouted. "You promised Ed just until tomorrow morning?!"

 _"Did I?"_ Zsasz had the nerve to sound _coy_.

Oswald gritted his teeth. "Yes, you--"

Off in the distance, Oswald heard a low rumble.

He blinked, and looked at the dark night through the window.

"--did," he finished weakly.

 _"Have fun, Boss,"_ Victor said with a grin in his voice. 

Oswald's eyes were drawn to Ed, who had been watching him with a smirk before he reached out and took the glass of water from the bedside table.

Oswald closed the phone and stared as Ed left the room without a backward glance.

That's when he realized he was thirsty again.

Dammit.


	6. Because Talking It Out Always Solves Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald wakes up and goes to find Ed. Ed tries to figure out what's going on. It doesn't end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it shouldn't have taken me this long to post a chapter, and even then, I'd sort of intended for it to include more content, but hey! Progress!
> 
> As always, mucho thanks to [Sharvie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharvie) for beta-reading, because this would've been an absolute mess otherwise. Also, big thanks to [Legs (InsanityRule)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs), [littlehollyleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf), and [Doyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle) for reading it over and offering ideas and suggestions.

It took Oswald maybe half an hour from the time Ed disappeared to successfully make it to his master bathroom to get himself a glass of water. His muscles were aching, and his stomach was still debating whether or not it wanted to go into full-scale rebellion, and he was irritated that his body was betraying him so thoroughly. But as Oswald stood in front of his bathroom mirror, his stiff muscles started to ease. The pain subsided to a much more bearable steady ache, which meant that Oswald could concentrate on more important things, like finding Ed and attempting to talk some sense into him.

Oswald had no idea _how_ he was going to convince Ed that Sofia Falcone was _not_ a woman to be trusted, let alone speak to, but he had made due with less promising situations in the past. He couldn't ask Ed in the name of their friendship -- Ed had closed that door when he felt that Oswald _still_ needed to die after Ed had already shot him in the stomach and dumped him in the river.

So, that left making it a business transaction. Or threatening him. Lying. Cajoling. Anything.

It wasn't a great plan, but it was better than just standing in his bathroom. Oswald was a man of action, more inclined to figure things out along the way than sit on his heels and watch from the sidelines. Which meant he was facing the idea of a long, painful circuit of the rooms where Ed was likely to be, with his leg barely maintaining the usual steady ache -- likely a result of wrenching the damn thing with the abrupt landing on the couch earlier in the evening, and the coming storm.

But then he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked away, poured himself another glass of water and knocked it back. Then he looked again.

He'd been worse, though that wasn't saying much. The hairspray in his hair was still holding, if only just barely. His skin was pale, the smattering of freckles standing out across his nose. The circles under his eyes were darker than they had been the last time he'd looked in a mirror. And that inexorable weight was back on his shoulders somehow, the one that reminded him how very _small_ he was in the grand scheme of the universe.

"Time to think like a king, hmm?" he asked himself, almost challenging the half-broken shell in the mirror. He was bigger than some mere mortal now. He had power now, and he'd have the crown soon. He just had to pass the final test and take what was rightfully _his_.

Oswald lowered his head, took a slow, deep breath, and braced his hand against the mirror. He'd looked into countless bottles and wine glasses with no problem, but the idea of staring into his own eyes to spy on someone through _their_ eyes felt off-putting, somehow. Still, there was a mirror in front of him, and it was silly to get self-conscious when no one was around to see him.

Oswald breathed in slowly, lifted his head, and stared into his own eyes. "Ed."

After the familiar flashbulb went off in front of his eyes, it took Oswald a moment to figure out where exactly he was before it came to him.

When his father had given him the "grand tour" of the mansion, he'd shown Oswald the library with pride. It was the result of three hundred years of family history, as well as a great grand-uncle in Westphalia who'd fancied himself an antiquarian before they'd come to America in the 1800s. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with a small fireplace in one wall, and a bay window with a cushioned window seat opposite the door to the hall. When Oswald had seen the lone armchair that hadn't matched the rest of the decor, Elijah explained that he'd brought it in himself when he'd become the master of the house. Even now, Oswald could imagine his father sitting there, perusing some of the older books with a glass of sherry.

Finding Ed reading in his father's armchair in the library, Oswald couldn't say he was surprised, though he might've felt a small pang in his chest. In Ed's peripheral vision, Oswald could see a collection of dusty books stacked neatly on the small table to Ed's right. The book in Ed's hands looked more like poetry than anything he'd usually gravitate towards, and it was nothing that Oswald recognized.

When Ed had stayed in the mansion during Oswald's mayoral campaign, and after Oswald's landslide victory, Oswald had seen how out of place Ed felt at the mansion, inspecting the paintings, reaching out but hesitating to touch anything. It was one evening weeks after the election when Oswald happened across Ed in the library, marveling over the collection, when the realization had hit him: he couldn't make Ed feel at home -- Ed had to create it for himself.

Oswald remembered clearing his throat gently, because Ed tended to startle badly when he was surprised from behind. Ed had still jumped despite Oswald's best effort before visibly shaking it off and praising Oswald's collection. The admission that it had been his father's had choked up Oswald for a moment. From there, it had been so easy to assure Ed that he could read anything in the library, even reorganize it to his heart's content. Oswald thought he would regret allowing something of his father's to be altered, but when he saw Ed's momentary skepticism morph into a mix of wonder and pride, Oswald knew it was meant to be. 

From then on, Oswald watched Ed become more confident in carving a place out for himself in the mansion. On one quiet evening, Ed shyly admitted the library was one of the first rooms in the mansion that felt like home to him. Seeing Ed having retreated there now, after everything that had happened between them, Oswald couldn't help feeling a small sense of hope.

Ed huffed a sigh, closed the book of poetry with his usual amount of care, and set it on top of the stack. He got up from where he'd been sitting, and headed for one section of shelves where some of the older first-edition tomes were liberally mixed in with items that looked newer (as much as anything in Elijah's collection could be considered "new").

 **"There _has_ to be something here that can explain what happened,"** Ed muttered as he pointed at titles, careful not to touch them until he found one that had "Crowley" printed on the spine in Gothic script. He hesitated for a moment before plucking it off the shelf. **"I just need to think of what so-called wizards would use to describe what happened to us--"** He cut himself off and let out a noise of frustration. **_"Think."_**

Oswald closed his eyes, braced himself, and slammed back into his body, wobbling precariously before righting himself. The library it was, then.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to get to there -- one of the grandfather clocks chimed the nine o'clock hour as he hobbled down the hallway, startling him so badly that his ankle twinged. Gritting his teeth, he pushed open the door to the library only to find it empty.

"Seriously, Ed?" Oswald muttered, staring at the bay window and wondering if he had to be standing next to it in order to use his scrying ability. At least it wouldn't take long to figure out where Ed had disappeared to.

The question quickly became academic as the throbbing got worse in his knee and ankle, most likely from pushing himself when his leg was already feeling more abused than usual along with the coming thunderstorm. Oswald had gotten used to Gotham's habitual crappy weather playing merry havoc with his bad joints ever since the injuries in question had "healed". But if he was feeling the drop in air pressure this far out from the storm, they were going to be in for one hell of a night. It wasn't a question of if they would lose power at some point, but when.

Oswald hobbled in, making his way to his father's armchair that Ed had been sitting in not that long ago, and falling into it with a loud groan. He gingerly rubbed just above the kneecap, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain until the muscles began to loosen.

"Oswald."

Oswald's head snapped up to see Ed standing in the doorway, staring at him with some surprise while holding a decanter of wine and a glass.

"Ed," he acknowledged in a tight voice, not bothering to get up.

"I thought you would still be in bed."

Oswald shook his head, his lips tightening to a thin line. "It's not going to do any good."

Ed must have recognized what was happening, because he glanced at the bay window behind Oswald's chair, and then moved into the room. "How long until it hits?"

"Maybe an hour or two," Oswald hazarded, sighing a little when he felt another muscle loosen. "Might be sooner, though."

Ed hummed before he set the decanter and glass next to the stack of books he'd pulled earlier and eyed Oswald. "Do you have any prescriptions, or are you still trying to prove that you're above using painkillers?"

Oswald snorted. "Even if I had any, they'd be at the Lounge."

Ed made a noise of surprise. "Why wouldn't you have any here?"

"Because I don't _live_ here," Oswald said pointedly. "Why else wouldn't I keep this place fully-stocked?"

Ed frowned. "But you have this house..." He looked around the library, as if he couldn't fathom why someone would want to leave it. Then again, from what little Oswald had been able to glean about Ed's own past, Oswald had a feeling that the mansion had been Ed's first real home.

"I couldn't stay here." Oswald said, staring at Ed. "Not after seeing _my dead father_ wandering the halls."

It was easier to believe that had been the only reason, but the truth was Oswald hadn't been able to stay because he'd kept expecting to see Ed everywhere he went in his own home.

He'd see Ed coming out of his bedroom on his way to breakfast, his hair charmingly rumpled, his eyes at half-mast.

He'd hear Ed pacing around the living room when he was trying to figure out how to schedule meetings with mob lieutenants and city officials so they wouldn't conflict.

He'd peek into the study Ed had claimed for himself when he had first moved in, where he'd filled out mayoral paperwork and bribe authorizations as needed. Because Ed would always run out of tea when he was working, and Oswald had gotten into the habit of bringing him more.

Ed scowled. "And I couldn't stay here after you betrayed me."

Oswald felt the familiar surge to anger rising up inside him, but he stopped himself with some effort. _Keeping Ed away from Sofia is more important than bickering right now,_ he reminded himself. _Concentrate on that._

"Ed," Oswald said firmly, "whatever we've done to each other in the past, I need you to do one thing for me now."

Ed frowned, confused and wary. "Oh?"

"Don't trust Sofia Falcone."

"Falcone...?" Ed hadn't been expecting that. "Is she any relation to...?"

Oswald nodded, his smile anything but pleasant. "His daughter."

Ed's frown became mystified. "I thought Carmine left town. Why should I have to worry about his daughter?"

For a moment, Oswald considered telling Ed the truth, but then he remembered what happened when he had handed Ed all the weapons he needed to destroy Oswald. He didn't trust Ed not to turn on him again, even while the man was recovering from having been frozen.

"Because Don Falcone sent her to Gotham to eliminate his competition." The lie rolled off his tongue so easily that it almost felt like the truth. "I was able to kill his old lieutenants who'd gone into hiding when I took over, but Sofia is going after all of my associates to weaken my position."

When he said it, Oswald wasn't entirely sure it was a lie. 

Ed scowled. "What does that have to do with me?"

Oswald stared at him, his jaw working for a moment before he collected himself. "I'm _astounded_ that you can ask that question with a straight face, Ed. You were my chief of staff when I was mayor. You were in charge of scheduling all of my meetings for my lieutenants and organizing shipments and payoffs. You made separate _itineraries._ "

"So, _you_ think that _she_ thinks that _I'm_ still valuable to you," Ed's hands moved slowly as he spoke, following point to point. "Even though you kept me frozen in a block of ice for five months."

Oswald tried to shrug casually, and told himself that he was in too much pain to do it justice. "You were privy to a lot of secrets."

"That just means that I have information I can sell her." Ed smirked.

"Really, Ed?" Oswald smirked back. "Can you _remember_ any of it right now? Because if you can't, then you're going to be as useful as a paperweight."

Ed scowled at him, and Oswald indulged in the sweet taste of victory. "So, Carmine Falcone's daughter is going to come after me because I used to be your chief of staff. And because you froze me in a block of ice, I can't even save myself." His lips twisted into a grimace. "So, even when I'm trying to have _nothing_ to do with you, I'm still getting dragged into your messes."

Oswald bristled. "Part of your little sideshow was to have Grundy beat up people dressed like _me,_ Ed," he shot back.

At Ed's startled look, Oswald belatedly remembered how he'd learned that bit of information. He covered by glaring at him. "I wouldn't doubt my information network if I were you."

Ed's eyes narrowed. "Seeing as how I was the one who _organized_ it for you, I'm wondering how much of it you've managed to salvage in six months. Especially since you needed to start all over." He smirked. "Again."

"And yet I keep getting back on top," Oswald replied with a smirk of his own. "Funny how that happens, hmm?"

Ed's expression soured, but he didn't rise to the bait. "There's nothing to stop me from offering my services to Sofia Falcone to take _you_ down once and for all."

Ed's persistence had been something that Oswald had admired when they'd been mayor and chief of staff. Now, it was quickly becoming a pain in his ass. It was obvious Ed did _not_ know just how dangerous Sofia Falcone could be, and Oswald needed to keep that from happening at all costs. The second that Ed outlived his usefulness to her, he would quickly find himself at the bottom of Gotham River with a bullet in his gut.

"Ed," Oswald said firmly. "You have nothing valuable to offer her. You're still recovering from being frozen." He tried not to feel a pang of guilt about that, and only partially succeeded.

Ed folded his arms across his chest, still scowling. "Even as I am, I could still be of _some_ use to her."

"She didn't come to Gotham unprepared," Oswald said dismissively, his thoughts straying to Miss Winters. "She already has an assistant."

"I was never just some _assistant_ ," Ed snapped. "And you _know_ it."

Ed and his towering ego were obviously referring to how integral Ed had been to Oswald's organization, both as the mayor of Gotham and as the kingpin of the criminal underworld.

But what Ed must have conveniently forgotten -- and Oswald couldn't help thinking about -- was how _much more_ he'd become to Oswald.

"Yes," Oswald said tightly, clenching his jaw to keep himself from saying more than he intended. "I'm _aware_."

Ed froze. Oswald knew that Ed had been thinking about himself and his oh-so-spectacular organizational skills, but Oswald had been remembering something that had been so terrifying and freeing at first, before it had all come crashing down in the worst way possible.

The moment that realization had dawned in Ed's eyes should've been a sight to savor.

All it did was leave Oswald already feeling exhausted from the fight they were about to have, that they kept having every time the subject came up.

Well, Oswald wasn't going to give Ed the satisfaction of belaboring the subject. He sure as hell wasn't going to listen to Ed mock him yet _again_ for daring to have something so human as _feelings_ for someone, let alone the ridiculous man in front of him. He'd gotten more than his share of that before Victor had turned Ed into the greatest centerpiece of all time for his nightclub.

But the obnoxious grin and the malicious laughter never came.

Surprisingly enough, Ed looked like he was doing everything in his power to not even acknowledge the elephant in the room Oswald had just pointed out to him. His spine stiffened, his features tightening as he bared his teeth. "I don't have to put up with this."

"You're going to break your word?" Oswald scowled. "Just like that?"

"I agreed to spend the night in the mansion," Ed hissed. He looked around the room for a moment, a morose wistfulness breaking through the anger before his expression tightened. Drawing himself up to his full height, he added, "I never made a deal that included talking to you."

With that, he spun on his heel and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

Oswald glared after him.

He braced his hands on the arms of the chair, ready to get up and go after him, when he stopped.

 _No,_ he reminded himself, _now isn't the time to push._ Ed didn't like being cornered after an argument, and given some of the ideas that Oswald had about Ed's upbringing, he couldn't exactly blame him for wanting space.

The trouble was, Oswald was pretty sure Ed was going to find Sofia and try to make himself absolutely indispensable to her the second he was free to leave the mansion. And as much as Oswald hated to admit it, Ed didn't need to have his vast intelligence back to be invaluable to her, despite what he'd said to Ed.

Oswald huffed a sigh, letting himself sink back down into the armchair. He grabbed the wine glass and stared into the shine of it.

If Ed thought that walking out on Oswald was going to be that easy, he was _very_ much mistaken.


End file.
